


Giving Up Control

by Anonymous



Category: Rammstein
Genre: Age Play, Bathing/Washing, Cuddling & Snuggling, Daddy Kink, Disobeying Orders, Domestic Fluff, Eventual Smut, Friends With Benefits, Kink Exploration, M/M, Play Fighting, Spanking, ddlb
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-13
Updated: 2019-04-13
Packaged: 2019-07-11 18:21:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 31,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15977858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Paul and Till are in a sexual relationship. Paul confesses to Till that he wants to try something new; he wants to roleplay something a little more daring than what they're used to. Something he could never do with anyone else. If not slightly dubious, Till is ultimately willing.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place during Mutter era. Paul's age range while roleplaying is 5-8. This isn't written unbearably cringey (or at least, I hope it's not) or extremely sexual; it's just cute fluff. For now. There will be smut later.
> 
> Blame a certain someone for this fic.

“Till, I want to tell you something I never told anyone before.”

Paul is curled up on the porch swing, wearing one of Till’s large hoodies that hangs loosely on him—he has it pulled over his curled up legs, to preserve warmth against the cool night air. Till himself is wearing a tight turtleneck that clings to defined muscle, and a black beanie. He glances over towards him from where he sits on a stool by the banister, his cigarette a bright beacon in the darkness. He can barely see Paul—the light coming from the kitchen pours out from the windows, but even that is insufficient lighting. Paul is staring at him, but Till can’t see his eyes.

“Why me?” he asks, flicking ash over the porch banister. Paul clears his throat, speaks lowly.

“You’re not one to judge.”

“And this is something the others would judge you for? Even Schneider?”

“Especially Schneider. And you’re the one I’m fucking, not him.”

“So it’s related to sex.”

“…In a way.”

“Spit it out.”

Paul sits silently for a moment, turns his head away to look down, watching himself fiddle with the tassels of the knitted blanket draped over the uncomfortably stiff armrest of the porch swing. He lets one leg slip out from under the hoodie to begin pushing at the floor—he and the swing sway back and forth.

“I am interested in trying… Something.”

“As long as it has nothing to do with shit, then we can do it,” Till says calmly, then takes another drag of his cigarette. Paul huffs a laugh.

“That’s easy to say, Till.”

“What is it?”

“I want to roleplay,” Paul begins quietly, seemingly lacking the fearlessness he tends to have—Till realizes this, and concludes Paul is self-conscious about this topic. He doesn’t push Paul any further, he simply waits. He watches Paul through the darkness of the evening, patiently waiting for further elaboration. Paul lets out a deep exhale, cranes his head back against the backrest of the porch swing and groans aloud.

“It’s not exactly easy to say!” he blurts, giving one particularly firm kick against the porch—the swing creaks in protest as it rocks back and forth forcefully. Till shrugs.

“Paul, it’s me you’re speaking to. You could say you want to roleplay necrophilia and I would consider it.”

Paul laughs, his head remaining craned back—the way the light rests across him has Till finally seeing his face, and the grin that’s on it.

“I want you to treat me like your child,” Paul muses, bluntly stating it before his shame could grasp him and remind him of the importance of preserving his pride and Till’s impression on him. Till says nothing, trying to wrap his head around what he means. Paul continues, quieter now.

“It’s not out of a sick sexual desire, but more like… Relying on you. Giving my control away to you, and letting you control me. I think it would be… I don’t know. Therapeutic.”

Till is left momentarily speechless, attempting to gather an appropriate response to this confession. Paul clears his throat, lifts his head to look at Till again as he says with a gesture of his hand, “Like, you would care for me as you would a child. Feed me. Hold me. Watch over me. Lead me.”

“Is that all?” Till asks lowly, watching the dark shape of Paul with a knitted brow, “You want to regress into an age of helplessness?”

“Kind of, I guess. I think it would be… Fun?”

Till puts his cigarette out on the banister of the porch and clears his throat, pausing to consider his next question. Paul is silent on the swing, watching him. Till speaks again, lowly.

“And that’s it? You didn’t want it to go further than just me caring for you?”

“Well,” Paul begins with a nervous laugh, “It could lead where it may. This sort of thing is intimate, Till.”

“Alright, then,” Till says with finality, reaching into the pocket of his jacket to withdraw his cigarette pack. He lights up another cigarette, the flame casting a glow across his rugged face in the darkness. Paul watches him for a moment, pulling his leg back up to draw the hoodie over it, and then speaks incredulously.

“What do you mean ‘alright, then’?”

“I mean, alright, let’s try it. I’ll do my best, but you’ll have to lead me from time to time if you want me to do this how you want it to be done.”

Paul is completely still on the swing, his hands resting on his knees, over the thick fabric of Till’s oversized hoodie. Then he’s unraveling himself and rising from the porch swing with a creak of wood. His bare feet are quiet against the porch as he approaches Till, seated on the stool in the corner. Now, Till can see his features a bit more clearly. A guarded look is on Paul’s face. He reaches up to touch two curled fingers under Till’s chin. Till lifts his head up towards him.

“I’ll have to explain it more thoroughly later,” Paul begins, searching his face, “But knowing you’re willing is a relief. I don’t know why I doubted you would be.”

Till looks up at him silently, with no change on his expressionless face. Paul leans in to kiss him softly over the forehead, and then on the tip of his nose.

 

* * *

 

Till stands blankly in front of the assortment of products, a shopping basket hooked into his elbow. Beside him, Paul is radiating restless energy. Till stares at the broad packages of baby diapers. He lifts a hand, points at it with a broad finger, and states flatly, “I refuse.”

Paul follows his finger and then barks a laugh. He presses his face into Till’s bicep and snorts, giggling obscenely—like a child. He then sighs and says with a hand squeezing Till’s shoulder, “No. Not that far back, Till. Even if I wanted to try that age, I don’t want to mess with that kind of thing. Maybe this, sometime.”

Then he reaches out and grabs one of the bottles as an indicating gesture. He turns it around in his grasp and then plucks at the rubber nipple three times.

“I… I am not sure how to process that mental image,” Till begins, quietly. Paul snorts again, places the bottle back on the shelf.

“Like I said, not that young,” Paul remarks, and then turns on his heel to begin pacing away. Till gratefully follows him, feeling far out of place, not quite coming to terms with what’s happening right now. Paul leads him into another aisle; one full of books and magazines. This is bearable. Paul stops in front of the more colorful, gaudy books. Till realizes they’re children’s books when he steps up beside him. Paul gestures with a sweep of his hand and says with a broad, teasing smile directed up towards Till, “Go ahead and choose—you’re the one with the money. Surprise me.”

Till nods. He’s familiar with this. He reaches out to grab one of the coloring books. It advertises “BIG ANIMAL COLORING BOOK” on the front. Flipping through it, Till is immediately bored by the selection. It’s far too cartoony. He puts it back. Paul is watching closely, and upon glancing over, Till notices the pleased expression on his face, the way he’s biting his bottom lip to stifle his broad grin. Paul’s amused eyes flick up to look into his, and then he’s turning on his heel to begin wandering down the aisle, scanning the other books aimlessly. Till blushes, embarrassed. It’s not like he needs privacy, doing this. Whatever. Paul is just giving him more freedom, he supposes.

He begins looking through the coloring books, until he finds one suitable; it’s of nature settings, with trees and flowers and water sources. It’s semi-realistic. Maybe it’s pandering more to Till’s interests, but it works. There’s a lot of variety. He sets it in the basket, and then immediately grabs one of the coloring books with Disney princesses, to fuck around with Paul. He smirks to himself as he steps aside to begin looking at the storybooks. Scanning them, he’s displeased. But then he finds one of traditional, classic German fairytales. He already has a few books on them, books that delve into the history and underlying meanings (as well as just the stories themselves), but he supposes he should buy new material for this exploration. He grabs the thick book, drops it in the basket.

Paul suddenly reappears at his side, hands linked behind his back, an easy smile on his face. Till looks at him, arches a brow.

“I’m sure a man with a towering mohawk grabbing some coloring books is an unusual sight,” Paul muses, grinning now. Till reaches up to ruffle his red hair and then gently pushes him away, which has him laughing. Paul takes his hand then, abruptly. Till stills, stunned. He glances around, wary of any people who may recognize them and proceed to withdraw cameras. Paul squeezes his big fingers in his smaller hand and muses, “I scanned the aisles. Hardly anyone is here. It’s late, Till.”

Till looks over at him, nods slightly with a stony expression. Paul holds his hand, clings to it like a child would. Till feels hot under the collar, coming to realize even now, Paul is inheriting immature behavior. Paul begins impatiently tugging him down the aisle. Till stumbles after him.

He leads him towards the toy aisle. Till is gaping at this point, disbelieving. Paul points at the stuffed animals and looks at Till with a smile.

“Till, I want you to buy me toys, okay? I’m not young enough to be bottle fed, but I’m young enough to want to play with toys. Understand? Surprise me. Pamper me. I can pay you back, whatever, but that’s part of the fun. I want you to spoil me.”

Till is just lost for words. He stands there, staring at Paul, staring at the toys, trying to process this and how to respond. He just licks his lips and manages a slight huff.

“I—Okay.”

“If this is becoming too much, tell me, please. I don’t want this to be unpleasant for you,” Paul says quietly, his smile gone. He squeezes Till’s hand. For a moment, they remain standing in front of the shelves of toys, Till debating internally. Then he squeezes his hand back and manages what he hopes is a reassuring expression.

“It’s strange. I’m not used to this. But we are only just beginning.”

Paul seems pleased. He nods, looks back at the stuffed animals, and then begins tugging Till along again. They end up in the food aisles; specifically, the sweets and candy. Paul continues holding his hand as he gestures to various snacks and candies, saying he prefers this and that, and he _hates_ that. Till makes sure to mentally write this all down for future reference. Paul ends up tugging him around the store, exploring relevant aisles and telling him things that he could make use of later. Like bubble bath soap, used for when he bathes Paul. Perhaps getting Paul a special blanket. Or maybe sometime later, one of the adult-sized onesies; although, Paul expresses wry amusement over that more than genuine enthusiasm.

 

Eventually, they leave with two bags: one of which is dedicated to their roleplay props, the other holding alcohol and a mixture of food items for later consumption at Till’s place. Paul is yammering the entire drive back, talking about relatively tame things that mean nothing to Till—he supposes he’s truly regressing into the mind of a child. Till just drives stiffly, unsure how to handle this. Is he getting into something he wouldn’t be able to adjust to? Would he just end up disappointing Paul?

 

* * *

 

“And if I were ever to act out, or disobey, you could give me some form of punishment,” Paul says, sitting cross-legged on Till’s bed, wearing one of Till’s hoodies and a pair of boxers, gesturing with a hand as he goes on, eyes raised thoughtfully to the ceiling, “Like giving me a ‘time out’—like telling me to go to my room or something like that, restricting me from doing certain things, scolding me, spanking me—”

 _“Spanking_ you? You’re serious about this.”

Till stares at him incredulously, uncertain, from over the rim of his beer glass as he begins to take a drink. Paul smiles, shrugs simply.

“Yeah. Spanking is fun, Till. It wouldn’t exactly be a _punishment_.”

“Oh. Right.”

“Yeah, so—we can also do other things,” Paul begins again, shifting from where he sits on the bed, looking enthusiastic with a grin on his face, “Like you could bathe me! Or take me out to the park. Um, I guess change my clothing, but at this point of age, I could do it myself. You would have to feed me, though. Well, you know how it works. You’ve got a kid. Or two. Or five. I don’t even know anymore.”

Till smirks, hidden in his beer. He nods, turns away to set the glass down on his desk. Then he faces Paul again, folds his hands in his lap lazily with that same passive look on his face.

“I get it, more or less,” he says lowly, “And sometimes, we may fuck.”

Paul sputters a laugh and turns his head away, grinning with a flush blooming in his cheeks. He shrugs and reaches up to rake his fingers nervously through his red locks. He gestures with a lift of that hand as he sputters, “I don’t know, I guess! It might be weird since I’m supposed to be a kid, but, uh. Yeah. I mean, it’s different in this case. We both know I’m not really a _kid,_ and that _you’re_ not attracted _to kids_.”

“I’m attracted to you,” Till says plainly in confirmation, extending one finger towards him from his folded hands. Paul smiles at that. He nods.

“You better be, otherwise this would be weird.”

Till snorts, grins, exposing his shark-like teeth and laugh lines. Paul watches him, enamored, before he regains his focus and goes on to say excitedly, “Anyways! If we ever felt compelled to, sure, we can have sex, but that’s not really what I had in mind.”

“I’m sure if I ever end up _spanking_ you, it will be,” Till mutters. Paul laughs.

“Yeah… You’re probably right.”

 

* * *

 

A week later, after family and business matters wind down and they find a window of opportunity, Paul texts Till, asking if he has time for him to come over for a night. Till can tell this is essentially a booty call—unaware it may be something more. He sends back a confirmation, tells him to let himself in. Paul has a spare key, he can make do. Till needs to finish this dinner with a friend.

 

At around 20:30, Till gets his front door unlocked and steps inside of the foyer of his home. He locks the door behind himself and steps out of his boots. He removes his leather jacket and throws it on the hook with a sigh. Then he trudges into the living room to place his keys on the coffee table like usual. As he slips off his sunglasses to hook them into his shirt, he recalls Paul is supposed to be here. He glances down the hallway, and sees his bedroom door is open.

“Paul?” he calls, approaching the open door as he undoes the belt of his jeans. Glancing in, he pauses when he realizes Paul is kneeling on the carpeted floor—wearing what appears to be a pair of navy blue pyjama pants and a simple black shirt. Paul turns to look at him and then beams. He gets up, crosses the distance to throw his arms around his waist. Till freezes, startled.

“I missed you!” Paul whines, clutches him so tightly it has Till wheezing. Paul isn’t weak by any means and it currently shows as he’s attempting to squeeze every internal organ out of him through this unnecessarily constricting hug. Till is stunned, looking down at him with incredulity.

“What’s gotten into you?” Till laughs, “Are you trying to snap my spine?”

Paul pulls back and looks at him with a pouting expression on his boyish face. Till pauses, looking at him. He realizes he shaved. The lack of stubble makes him look years younger. He pans his gaze across his body, which ultimately fixates on his feet. Till has to bite his lip to stifle his laughter.

“You’re wearing slippers… With _pigs_ on them.”

When he looks up to meet Paul’s gaze, barely withholding a grin, he pauses when he notices the stony look on Paul’s face. Till’s stifled smile drops. Paul opens his mouth, and then closes it again. He looks at the floor, his hands in fists by his sides. Till freezes. It suddenly dawns on him. Shit.

“Wait, wait—I realize now. Sorry. Come here,” Till murmurs, reaching out to wrap his arms around Paul. He pulls him into a firm hug. Paul clings to him, grabbing onto his shirt, burying his face into his shoulder.

“Warn me next time so I know what to expect,” Till says, huffing a laugh, “I was really confused there for a second.”

When Paul snorts, he’s relieved. Paul speaks quietly, muffled into his shoulder, “I probably should have. I just didn’t want to make you nervous.”

“Yeah,” Till says quietly, squeezes him in his arms. He brings a hand up to pet his crimson locks and then pulls back to search his face. Paul gazes at him with a faint smile. Till cups his cheek, strokes his thumb over his skin tenderly. Today was very long and tiresome. It’s a lovely sight, seeing Paul again. He’s got a little bit of sunshine in his arms and he wants to treasure it. Feeling affectionate, he begins to lean in, tilting his head to kiss him, but then he pauses. Paul grins, looking at him with twinkling eyes.

“That’s inappropriate to do with your kid,” Paul muses lowly, the apples of his cheeks accentuated as he attempts to restrain his laughter. Till huffs.

“Not if I do this,” he remarks petulantly, and then pecks Paul on the mouth. Paul sputters a laugh, and then proceeds to beam at him with joy. Till swallows hard. He’s so cute. Paul reaches up to clutch at his stubbled cheeks, crying out with a broad grin, “Wait, I wasn’t ready! Kiss me again!”

Till blushes. Paul is purposefully making his voice higher. This is… Strange. Till obliges. He leans in, looks at Paul with open eyes and pursed lips. Paul curls his hands around the back of his shaved head to hold him still as he kisses him three times in quick pecks. Till smiles when Paul pulls back and looks at him, pleased.

“There we go,” Paul sings, withdrawing his hands from Till to grab onto the front of his black shirt with two fists. Till licks his lips, feeling flustered and out of place. He nods and glances down towards the floor, where Paul was kneeling. He notices the open coloring book. Paul follows his gaze and bites his lip, and then looks back at Till coyly. Till clears his throat and meets his gaze, asking lowly, “Aren’t you going to show me what you were doing, Paul?”

Paul pauses, blinks, and grins. He nods enthusiastically and then drops onto his knees again. Till moves to kneel beside him, his undone belt jingling from the motion—he still has to change out of his jeans, but Paul kind of distracted him. Paul grabs the coloring book and holds it up in front of himself in display, his nose peeking over the top of it, his gray eyes wide.

“It’s Snow White!” Paul proclaims, and then peeks down at his rather artistically colored version of Snow White. Except instead of the short bob the Disney version has, Paul used the black crayon to lengthen her hair. He also gave her angry eyebrows. And pronounced tits. Some gold was colored under her nostrils, too. Till grins, amused. Seems familiar.

“We have to put that up on the fridge,” Till says, past poorly stifled laughter. He knows the others would get a kick out of that if they saw it—especially Richard and Ollie. Paul grins genuinely at him, his crow’s feet wrinkling up. He nods and then lowers the coloring book to his lap to begin flipping through it.

“I just started, so I didn’t color much, buuut,” Paul begins in a sing-song voice, and then stops at the page with Ariel. He shows it to Till, eyes twinkling, and proclaims happily, “She’s my favorite! I want to color her next.”

Till softens, looks at Paul with a knowing, faint smile. He nods and reaches out to ruffle Paul’s hair.

“Don’t forget the red hair,” he muses. Paul shakes his head, looks down at the drawing of Ariel with a smile.

“I wouldn’t,” he says, and then sets down the coloring book. He turns to Till, eyes wide, his cute lips in a simple smile. Till watches him expectantly, brow arched. Paul reaches for him. Till pauses, moves to kneel rather than crouch. Paul scoots closer and winds his arms around him, leans in to nuzzle his face into his neck. Till drapes an arm around him and brings his other hand up to stroke at his cheek with the backs of his fingers.

“I want to cuddle with you, Till,” Paul whispers, said in a child-like tone, “Can we please cuddle?”

He pulls back to prop his chin on his chest, looks up at him with a jutted bottom lip and hopeful eyes. Till swallows hard. He nods.

“Sure thing,” Till begins, and then hesitates with an open mouth, unsure what to call Paul in this setting. He never really called Nele anything except her name and affectionate pet names derived from nonsensical things. For about four months as a baby, she was in love with peas and demanded them constantly, which earned her the tenderly given nickname ‘Peas’ from Till. Till figures he could ask him sometime. He moves to stand, deciding they could move to the bed now. But then Paul whines, clings to him helplessly. Till pauses, hunched over with his wide eyes trained down on Paul’s pouting face.

“Carry me!” Paul demands, and then attempts to lift himself through the hold he has on Till’s midsection. Till nearly topples forward, but manages to catch himself with a hand against the floor. He huffs a laugh and then spits out, “Alright, just let go for a second, Paul. I need to regain my goddamn balance.”

“Nooo,” Paul whines, withdraws his arms from around Till to clamp his hands over his ears, and then peers at Till with a frown, “You said a bad word! You can’t say that!”

Till nods, flushing in the face. He lets out a breath, and then speaks lowly as he kneels beside Paul, looking into his displeased gray eyes, “You’re right. I’m sorry, Paul. I’ll watch my language from now on. Will you let me carry you now?”

Paul drops his hands and looks up at him with a smile, like a flick of a switch. He nods. He extends his arms towards Till, and when Till shifts closer and leans in, Paul wraps them around his neck, shifting closer to draw his legs around him. Till is momentarily speechless, in disbelief he’s currently picking Paul up like a child. Paul winds his legs around his midsection, ankles crossing with his cheek pressing to Till’s shoulder. Till internally muses that the last time he did this, the person he was picking up in this fashion was about seventy pounds. He tucks one arm under Paul’s backside, the other curling around his back. He hoists him up with a strain of his legs, though considering how strong he is and how light Paul is, it’s not that difficult.

“You’re so strong, Till,” Paul giggles, squeezing him tightly and nuzzling into his neck. Till says nothing. He turns to the bed and approaches it, with Paul clinging to him. He plants a knee on the edge of his king sized bed and then leans over to gently drape Paul atop it. Paul pecks him lovingly over the neck and jaw, refusing to let him go for a second, until Till loses his balance and shoots a hand out to prop it against the bed. Paul giggles and then lets him go. Till pulls away, watches him turn around and crawl towards the pillows. His ass is very cute in those pyjama pants. Till barely, _barely,_ withstands the urge to reach out and squeeze his ass. And do other things to it. Instead, he turns away and begins to step out of his jeans, finally.

After changing into a pair of sweatpants, Till immediately feels more at ease. He sets his sunglasses on his dresser and then turns back to the bed. Paul is bundled up under the covers, watching him with a cute smile on his boyish face. Till climbs on, draws back the blankets and then slips under. Paul wiggles closer and draws both an arm and a leg around him. Till lets him, with a faint smile. He clings to him, nuzzles his cheek into his arm. Till slips it out from between them to wrap it around Paul. Paul squeezes his arm around him, rests his cheek against his chest.

“You’re so comfy and warm,” Paul whispers, “I want you to hold me forever.”

Till hums, a low rumble that vibrates against Paul’s cheek.

“Why don’t you tell me about your day, Paulchen?” he muses, tacking on the - _chen_ as a joke. Paul seems to like it considering he props his chin against Till’s chest and beams at him with wide eyes and a grin. Till smiles at him faintly. He brings his hand up to begin petting at his red locks, ruffling the soft strands under his broad, calloused fingers. Softly, he speaks, saying, “Tell me all about it.”

“I did a lot of grown-up things, though, Till,” Paul whispers, looking at him reluctantly with a pout, “I’m not sure if you want to hear about that stuff.”

“Generalize for me, then.”

Paul searches his rugged face and then hums thoughtfully, resting his cheek back on his chest.

“Well, I woke up, real bright and early, and then I had breakfast… I think just some toast and eggs? I wasn’t very hungry,” Paul begins—Till feels his speaking vibrate against his chest, “After _that,_ I dropped little Emil off at school, and then I went and picked up some things at the place where you get mail—”

Till has to pause, confused. But then he realizes that he’s purposefully waiting for Till to provide him with the very obvious answer. The ignorance of a child—of course.

“The post office?”

“Yeah!” Paul enthusiastically agrees, and then clears his throat before going on, “Aaand then I had a phone call with my best friend about doing some very adult things this weekend…”

“Which best friend? And what were you planning on doing, Paulchen?”

Till gets lost in the moment, stroking at Paul’s hair as he holds him, genuinely interested in hearing about his day. Paul speaks up, proclaiming proudly, “Schneider, of course!”

And then he pauses, hesitating. He begins drawing shapes on Till’s belly, through his shirt. He speaks quietly, reluctantly.

“We were going to… Go and have some of those grown-up drinks.”

He looks up at Till with wide eyes, almost fearfully, “I know you wouldn’t want me to, but we’ll just have a little! I promise!”

That nearly has Till choking on laughter, but he manages to repress it, even his ironic smile. Paul, promising he’ll only have a little bit of booze? With _Schneider?_ Till is the last person on Earth he has to swear abstinence to when it came to alcohol consumption. He swallows down his wry amusement to respond appropriately.

“I trust you,” Till murmurs and resumes stroking at his hair, searching in his wide eyes. He’s slightly uncertain about what to say, considering he’s used to talking to Paul in a very different manner, but he thinks he’s getting the hang of it.

“Okay,” Paul says with a smile and then rests his cheek back on his chest. He clears his throat and continues, running his fingertips along Till’s stomach.

“After that, I spent some time on my laptop at home, catching up on business stuff, and theeen… I went to the beach… Picked Emil up on the way home, texted you, and then packed some stuff before coming over!”

“Sounds like a good day,” Till muses softly, gently raking his fingers through Paul’s red locks. Paul hums happily and nuzzles ever closer. He clings to Till and says tenderly, in a soft-spoken tone of voice, “It’s even better now that I’m with you, Till. I was so lonely.”

Till is silent for a moment, his face warming. Paul is never this clingy—it’s something to adjust to. He clears his throat and replies quietly, saying, “I’m sorry you were lonely. Now I can spend the rest of the night with you. Is there anything you wanted to do?”

“Before bedtime?” Paul asks, peeking up at him with wide eyes. Till stares down at him with slight shock. He takes a moment to absorb what he just said, and then he’s huffing a quiet laugh. Smirking a little, Till takes in a breath and then murmurs, “Yeah. Before bedtime.”

Paul puffs up his cheeks and squints, humming loudly, contemplatively. He thinks about it for a second, and Till simply watches him, smiling faintly. Then Paul blinks widely, blowing out the air in his cheeks in a burst before he blurts excitedly, “I want to make cookies! And watch a movie!”

Till can’t help but smile a little broader, amused. Not exactly how he pictured spending tonight with Paul.

“Sure thing, Paulchen.”

“I wanna cuddle more, though,” Paul insists, squeezing his arm around Till, his slender hand curling into his shirt, fingers gripping the fabric. Till nods. He strokes his hand over Paul’s back, across his black top, and murmurs lowly, “We can cuddle more. As long as you want.”

Happily, Paul shifts impossibly closer, practically laying on top of him at this point. Till feels a little suffocated, but it’s oddly cute, in a way—how much he’s clinging to him. Till doesn’t mind it. He just holds Paul, resting his broad hand in the dip of his side. Paul nuzzles his face into his chest, his wild, crimson locks tickling Till’s jaw. In this intimate position, Till abruptly gains the desire to feel his skin. He lets himself be a little selfish and bold by slowly hiking up Paul’s shirt with subtle curls of his fingers, until his fingertips caress pale skin. He lets his hand roam over his warm, exposed skin. He feels Paul shudder, slightly. His skin is soft. Till is suddenly ravenous to touch more of his lover, but he controls himself.

“You’re comfy,” Paul sighs, his exhale brushing across Till’s neck. Till says nothing. He just squeezes his fingers around Paul’s bare side.

 

Eventually, ten minutes later, Paul gets bored of this and rises from the bed to grab Till’s hand and drag him to the kitchen. There, Till notices there are two plastic bags on the counter. Paul begins digging into one, yammering all the while, until he produces the necessary ingredients to make frosting cookies. Till was wondering how they were going to make cookies when he owns nothing suitable for baking sweets. Peering into the other bag, Till finds a bunch of snacks and treats advertised for children. Fruit snacks, crackers, chocolate granola bars, pretzels, shit like that. In the other bag, the one Paul is currently digging in, there’s a box of cereal.

“Wow, you came prepared,” Till comments lowly, leaning against the counter casually with his arms folding. Paul glances at him, smiles a little, and then sets the last piece of the recipe on the counter: the container of frosting. He shoves away the plastic bag, making space, and then sets his hands on the counter. He arches a brow at Till, expectantly. Till looks at him, trying to understand what he’s trying to convey. Paul licks his lips and then says quietly, “When I was seven, I didn’t know how to bake cookies.”

Till tilts his head, still lost, and _then_ it registers. He nods, clicking his tongue. He steps back from the counter to pull open the lower cabinet. He digs out a large metal bowl and passes it to Paul, saying firmly, “For the mixing. Put it on the counter, and then go grab a spatula from the drawer.”

Peeking over, he sees the grin on Paul’s face as he turns away to obey. While he noisily digs out a plastic spatula from the utensil drawer, Till grabs the box with the cookie mix to tear it open and dig out the sealed bag.

 

It takes about twenty minutes. Paul is, noticeably, purposefully making mistakes and struggling to stir the batter, as well as placing it on the cookie sheet in even amounts. Till has to often lean over him and take the sloppily made ball of dough from his sticky fingers to show him how to do it. Paul seems happy the entire time; he constantly licks at his fingers and the spatula despite Till’s protests and gives the taller man unpleasantly sticky, wet kisses on the face. Till is a little lost in the moment _—trying_ to show Paul how to make some _goddamn cookies_ —that a grin ends up on his face and he forgets that this is an act at all.

Once the poorly made baking sheet of cookies is placed in the preheated oven, Till hooks an arm around Paul’s neck and turns him towards himself to kiss him with a firm purse of his lips, a repressed smile on his face. Paul giggles into it and reaches up to clutch lovingly at his face. He returns it with a few tender pecks of his lips. Till slides his arm away from around him, to instead cup the back of his head, sticky fingers purposefully going in ruby hair. Paul laughs against his mouth and pulls away to blurt in complaint, “Till!”

He begins raking his fingers through his hair with an amused, radiant grin on his boyish face. And then he jerks his hand out of his hair when he realizes _his_ fingers are even dirtier than Till’s, effectively making it worse. Till barks a laugh. Then he leans in to kiss him affectionately on the forehead, before he speaks lowly in a whisper against his hair with a grin on his face, “Looks like I have to bathe my dirty boy, now.”

That came out as a wry joke, but when he pulls back and sees Paul’s face, he can’t help but laugh again. Paul blushes. Till kisses his forehead once more, chuckling, and then turns to the sink. He rinses his hands. He peeks over to see Paul standing there with his loosely clenched fist resting atop the counter, which is now speckled with flour and bits of dough. His eyes are downcast to the cookie mix box, his lip between his teeth. God, he’s so cute right now. And handsome—despite this façade to seem as child-like as possible, he looks handsome. Till wants to eat him up.

Turning to Paul, Till reaches out to gently clutch the wrist of the hand hanging by his side, earning a glance of bashful gray eyes. He steps closer, raising Paul’s hand—gazing into his lover’s eyes, Till takes two of his sticky fingers into his mouth. He licks the sweet cookie mix from his fingers, smirking around them as he does. Paul blinks and looks at him with surprise, which becomes a shy grin, and _then_ it becomes mock disgust. He makes a puckered face and whines, “That’s gross!”

Nearly sputtering, Till withdraws his fingers from his mouth, turns his head away to hide his poorly concealed laughter. Paul is obviously trying to hide his own amused smile when Till peeks at him again, still chuckling.

 

Soon after, they clean up and move into the living room. While Till grabs pillows and blankets from the hallway closet, Paul calls that he’s going to grab his coloring book, before running off. Till sets up the blankets and pillows at the foot of the couch, arranging a little nest-like thing for Paul. Paul comes hurrying back into the living room, earning a glance from Till. He notices that Paul is now carrying a blanket, one he doesn’t recognize. It’s smaller, with planets and spaceships on it. Till swears he’s going to end up with whiplash by the end of the night. He doesn’t comment on it.

Paul holds out a DVD case. Till silently takes it, eyes the cover. It’s a copy of _Mary Poppins_.

“My favorite!” Paul gushes, and Till believes it, “I wanna watch that!”

“Sure, Paulchen,” Till muses, pops it open, “Get comfortable. I’ll put it in.”

All too happily, Paul plops down in the nest and wraps his planet blanket around himself. While Till turns on the (archaic) DVD player and inserts the disc, Paul sets down his coloring book gingerly and flips it open. He places his box of crayons beside it before he starts looking for a suitable page to color. Till turns on the box TV with a static noise and grabs the remote from the TV stand. He stands there with a furrowed brow as he waits for the menu to load up. When it does, it takes him a second to figure out how to navigate it with the remote—this shit is always confusing. He’s used to VCRs.

Once the opening credits start, Till sets down the remote and steps out of the living room to grab Paul something to drink. When he pulls open the fridge, he pauses, standing there blankly, stunned. The vibrant packaging of Capri-Sun stares back at him. A jar of applesauce, bottles of juice, cups of fruit, a package of yogurt, string cheese, a box of strawberries, and a bag of baby carrots.

“Holy shit,” Till mutters. He closes the fridge, rips open the freezer. Ice cream. Popsicles. He gapes at the arrangement. Paul went fucking nuts, buying all this shit for his fridge. He’s really committed, apparently. Till, feeling a little overwhelmed, slowly closes the freezer and peeks into the fridge again. He rips a Capri-Sun out of the box and escapes the implications of the all the food glaring at him by slamming the fridge door shut. He reenters the living room, lets out a deep breath, and then approaches Paul.

“Here, kid,” Till says, earning a wide-eyed glance from Paul. He sets the Capri-Sun on his head. Paul’s hands fly up to catch it before it could fall. He lowers it, stares at it, and then beams up at Till as if it were the most precious thing he could’ve ever given him. Flustered, Till takes a seat on the couch and rubs at his face with a hand.

 

For a while, they linger in the living room. Paul’s attention is split between watching the movie and coloring in his book. Till lounges on the couch, knees placed apart with a pensive look on his face, one hand upon his thigh, one elbow drawn back over the backrest of the couch. He watches Paul, studies the way he moves with more energy, carefreely, the way he colors with a slender hand, a hand meant to hold a guitar pick instead of a green crayon. Till wonders how it came to this. How Paul wound up with this peculiar need to be a boy again.

He said it could be therapeutic. Therapeutic for what? Did the weight of being an adult become too great? Maybe he just wanted to rely on someone else for once. Till knows people rely on _him_ a great deal: Rammstein, Arielle, Emil. Paul has always been an overachiever, striving for perfection. He worked so hard to get to where he is now, where _they_ are now. One man can only bear so much stress—there comes a time where he must find an outlet.

Till wants to ask, to hear it in Paul’s words, but he refrains from doing so. He’ll bring it up later. Paul is very busy coloring in some birds.

Two minutes later, the oven begins beeping—the cookies are done.

 

* * *

 

Paul watches the entirety of _Mary Poppins_ , completely enthralled, bundled up in the nest of blankets, snacking on the three cookies that Till limited him to—the rest are in a makeshift cookie jar. Silence and serenity is shared between them until the movie comes to an end. Once the ending credits roll, Paul flips over and crawls out from the tangle of blankets, earning a glance from Till who’s hunched over at the coffee table, writing up an email on his bulky laptop. Paul looks up at him with a broad grin and wide, radiant eyes. His red hair is wild, his black shirt haphazard on his muscular torso, his slim hands placed flatly on the ground as he crawls over to Till, to fit himself between his knees. Till looks down at him with a slight smile, hands withdrawing from the keyboard of the laptop to begin petting his hair.

“Thank you,” Paul says, pitched normally, curling both arms around Till’s calf, fingers clutching at his sweatpants. He rests his cheek on his knee and closes his eyes. Till doesn’t reply; he just strokes at his hair, traces his ears with delicate fingertips. Paul clings to him like this, kneeling, for just a moment before he abruptly moves to get up. Till looks up at him, watches him silently—he can’t help but think he looks handsome. The way the black shirt clings to his torso, showing his figure. The passive look on his face save for the slight warmth in his enigmatic eyes. His haphazard crimson locks, his boyish face.

Till is still when Paul moves onto him, to sit on his lap. He drapes his arms around Till’s shoulders, rakes his slender fingers up over the back of his head, threading into the segments of his mohawk. He curls over him protectively, possessively, angles his head to kiss him on the brow. Till’s hands raise to rest gently on Paul’s hips.

Tipping his head back into Paul’s hands, Till looks up at him with a searching gaze. Paul smiles down at him, eyes fond, warm. He looks content. He then curls his back to meet him there. He kisses him, fingers fanning out to cradle his head affectionately. Till returns it with subtle enthusiasm, eyes closing and hands running up across Paul’s sides. He’s warm, a comforting weight in his lap.

Their lips overlap together, a tender back and forth that has Till melting back into the couch, comforted by the chaste kiss that he has yearned for many times throughout the evening. Paul clings to him, kissing him eagerly in quick, firm purses of his lips, before he sits back on Till’s thighs, licking his lips. Till smiles faintly. Paul’s cute lips are pink from kissing.

“That was a good first session,” Paul says, reaching up to idly stroke his thumb along Till’s nose, a thoughtless, affectionate gesture with a grin on his face. “I had a lot of fun. What did you think? Be honest with me or else I’ll kick your ass. I can tell when you’re lying, Till.”

Till huffs a slight laugh and looks at the other man with an amused smile. He takes Paul’s hand before it could withdraw, and threads their fingers together.

“It was strange at first,” he says coolly, sobering Paul’s expression slightly, “But it’s new to me. I warmed up to it. It was… Enjoyable, providing you with what you wanted, perhaps with what you needed. I like caring for you.”

He wants Paul to be happy. That’s the bottom line. But he stops himself from saying so, considering he’s getting a little embarrassed. Paul’s smile returns. He nods and leans in to kiss Till in a fleeting, loving peck, which he returns.

“Good,” Paul muses softly, squeezing his fingers around Till’s, his arm tightening around his shoulders in an intimate embrace. “I think with time, you’ll end up having fun, too. This is just the beginning.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Till and Paul continue practicing their new-found roleplaying. Till starts to enjoy it more and more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know Till would never let anyone call him 'daddy' because he is actually a father, but I want Paul to call him daddy, so he's going to be called daddy.
> 
> I want to reiterate that Paul is actually _really_ cute, smol, and young-looking during Mutter era, it's crazy. [Here](https://78.media.tumblr.com/b267e966596cef39ef166eb3b43e5f56/tumblr_pfizxvtusk1wffjmmo2_540.jpg) [are](https://78.media.tumblr.com/191a6f287e04f1c60244f1c132cae525/tumblr_pfizxvtusk1wffjmmo8_640.png) [some](https://78.media.tumblr.com/71da4dfa7acf217cbeeaa2ae08573001/tumblr_pfizxvtusk1wffjmmo3_1280.png) [photographic](https://78.media.tumblr.com/e226127c3918ccfcbd11df65dd22311c/tumblr_pfizxvtusk1wffjmmo7_500.jpg) [examples](https://78.media.tumblr.com/22870672cca28887f67750cf926931f0/tumblr_pfizxvtusk1wffjmmo6_400.jpg). He's perfect for this AU.
> 
> Next chapter will have smut!

It’s ten in the morning and Paul is sprawled out on his back atop his blanket on the living room floor, head craned back with a broad grin on his face, his red hair wild. He’s running the backs of his hands up over the carpeted floor, chasing the rays of the sunlight. Till is kneeling over him, between haphazardly spread legs, body bowed for him to kiss sloppily at his exposed tummy and heaving chest. Paul is laughing while Till mouths at his pale, freckled skin.

“That tickles!” Paul gasps, jerks his head up to look down at Till with wide eyes. Till peeks up at him as he dips his tongue into his belly button. Paul jerks and giggles. Till slides broad hands around Paul’s sides, across soft skin, and then lower to squeeze handfuls of his cute ass. Paul shifts and whines.

“You in the mood?” Till asks lowly, voice rumbling. Paul hums thoughtfully, looks down at Till with a smug smile and lidded eyes, his arms outstretched above his head, wearing a baggy hoodie that’s pushed up to his chest.

“I like it when you kiss me,” Paul whispers, “But anything more than that is naughty.”

“Sometimes you can be a bad boy,” Till remarks, and then goes back to mouthing at his skin. Paul hums. He reaches out to rest a slender hand over Till’s head, atop the soft fabric of his black beanie, which hides his bedhead mohawk.

“Won’t you bathe me?” Paul asks softly, batting his eyelashes innocently, “I still need to be washed this morning…”

He hesitates, as if he were to say more, and then shuts his mouth with a click of his teeth. He smiles a little at Till, a slight furrow developing in his brow. Till notices his troubled expression and stops kissing him to move higher up over his smaller body. He lays beside him on the floor and noses at his ear and the cool stainless steel of his gauge as he asks softly, “What is it?”

Paul brings a hand down to reach out and clutch a loose fistful of Till’s sleep shirt, which he has yet to change out of.

“Till, how do you feel about me calling you ‘daddy’?”

“That’s fine,” Till murmurs with no moment of contemplation, kissing at his shaven jaw lovingly in-between his words, “It could be hot.”

“You’re not bothered by it?”

“It’s different. You’re using it sexually. What I’m used to is platonic. They’re unrelated.”

Paul smiles. He turns onto his side to face Till and nuzzles closer. He slides his leg in-between Till’s. He speaks softly, saying, “Okay.”

“What shall I call you?”

“Oh, God, uh…”

Till huffs a laugh, his exhale ghosting across Paul’s skin. Paul turns his head to press his face into Till’s. Till’s nose brushes against his cheek. Till chuckles and kisses him on the bottom lip and the dip of his chin before murmuring, “’Little one’?”

Paul snorts.

“You’ve thought about it.”

“A little.”

“I like it. That’s really cute. You can call me whatever you want. Anything would make me happy.”

“Alright, baby. You’ll be my little one.”

“Oh,” Paul begins, letting out a rushed exhale, and then brings a hand up to hide his face behind it, blushing—noticeably flustered. Till pulls back to look at him with a smug smile. He can see his ears are reddening. Paul huffs and says behind his hand, “I—Sorry. That got me.”

Till laughs aloud and draws his arms tighter around Paul, holds him closer to his chest. Paul buries his red-hot face in Till’s neck, clings to him silently. Till strokes at his back as he murmurs, “You’re so fucking cute.”

“You potty mouth,” Paul mumbles, flustered. Till pulls back to plant a loving kiss to his hair and then murmurs, “Let’s get you in the bath, huh?”

 

In the bathroom, the running water drums noisily against the base of the porcelain tub. Paul stands before a kneeling Till, watching with a bitten lip as the older man draws down his pyjama pants, along with his underwear. Till’s eyes swim down, eating up the sight of his naked lower half: his slim hips, his slender, beautiful legs, strong with muscle. He shaved his pubic hair for the occasion; he’s totally hairless between his thighs. Paul takes it upon himself to tug his top off, exposing his muscular torso and defined abs. Till looks up at him with a faint smile, and then leans in to kiss him on the belly. Paul smiles shyly down at him.

Till turns away and reaches out towards the bath to test the running water under his fingers. It’s hot, but not unbearably so.

“Alright, get in, Paulchen,” he says, a gentle command that Paul happily obeys with a smile. He steps into the bathtub and sits down in the low level of water. He curls his legs up, knees to his chest, and wraps his arms around them. He looks down, watching himself extend a hand to let the hot water rush across it. Till grabs the bottle of bubble bath soap from the rim of the tub and pops it open to let it spill under the downpour of bathwater. It immediately begins to foam up. Paul grins at the rising mountain of bubbles, blatantly pleased. He slaps his hand down atop it; clumps of soap go flying. A spray lands across Till’s face, earning a flinch and a sputtered laugh. Paul looks over and sees the soap clinging to Till’s brow and nose.

“You’re having a bath, too—d-daddy,” he begins to say with a laugh, and then stutters out that shyly spoken pet name. He ducks his head and looks up at Till with wary gray eyes. Till wipes his hands over his face and looks at Paul with a slight smile.

“Now I’m squeaky clean,” Till muses, raising up onto his knees to lean over the rim of the bathtub; he cups a hand around the back of Paul’s head and pulls him in for a tenderly placed kiss against his forehead. Paul melts. He looks at Till with eyes of love when Till sits back and meets his gaze again.

“You’re a good boy, Paulchen,” Till murmurs, stroking the backs of his fingers over his cheek. Paul turns his face into it, eyes closing. Till cups his cheek and runs his thumb down over his cute lips. Paul hums happily, content, and opens his eyes to look up at Till with submissiveness. Till removes his hand and looks away to push back the shower curtain. He shifts closer and says lowly, clearing his throat, “Okay. Lay back for me. We need to get your hair wet, little one.”

Blushing already, Paul nods. He unravels his arms from around his legs and then moves to lay back into the soapy water. Till watches him submerge his striking red hair under the water, lost within the building soap bubbles. With one hand, Till reaches out to tickle his tummy, a smirk curling at the corner of his lips. Like he hoped for, Paul violently jerks with a splash, lifting his head to look at Till with shock. Till begins to put more force into it, scratching lightly across his belly and ribs. Paul twists with a sharp laugh. He manages to spray water onto Till’s lap from his flailing, but Till doesn’t care. Raising up onto his knees, he leans further in with a grin to begin tickling his fingers aggressively over Paul’s sides—Paul screams a shrill, “Till!”

He pushes at Till’s hands, wiggling with an involuntary grin on his pinched face. Till relents and cups his broad hands over Paul’s bare sides, sliding under his back to keep him still as he leans in to kiss him on the belly, before blowing an obnoxious raspberry that has Paul jerking and laughing sharply. Maybe Till is getting ahead of himself, but he doesn’t give a shit. He’s smiling when he looks up at Paul.

“You’re silly, daddy,” Paul giggles, raising a hand to bite his forefinger between his teeth. Till leans in to smooch him on the tummy and then he sits back on his knees, now a bit wet from Paul’s splashing. Till strokes his hands over Paul’s freckled skin below the layer of bubbles and hot bathwater. He lets his fingers roam across his abs, his narrow hips, his muscular thighs that he squeezes firmly in his grip. Paul looks at him with a faint smile, his eyes lidded—his red hair clings to his temples and forehead, his eyelashes wet. Till wants to kiss him. Instead, he removes his hands from his body and tests the heat of the water which fell from the faucet. Reaching up, he turns the heat up a bit more and then squeezes some more bubble bath into the water.

“I want you to get in with me next time,” Paul muses, idly patting at the building soap with a smile on his face. Till hums and looks at him with gentle eyes. He dips his hand into the water and strokes at Paul’s shin, feeling his fine body hair underneath his fingers.

“Next time,” he promises, “For now, let’s get you washed up. Sit with your back to me, little one.”

Biting his lip shyly, Paul nods and then moves to sit up. The bubbly water shifts noisily as he scoots over to rest his back to the side of the tub, baring his back to Till. Till admires the constellation of his birthmarks as he grabs the vanilla scented body wash—bought for this purpose. A softer, warmer scent unlike that of a masculine body wash that wouldn’t fit with their playing. He squeezes some onto a bath sponge in his grasp and then squeezes it until it suds up.

Curling a hand affectionately around Paul’s slick shoulder, Till holds him still as he begins gently washing his back with circles of the sponge. He strokes the sponge down along the length of his spine, traces it again with his fingertips, feeling the slopes of his vertebrae. Somehow, Till feels like this a precious moment. He hasn’t bathed someone intimately like this in a while. Paul is baring himself to him, a vulnerability that Till doesn’t want to tarnish. Paul trusts him.

Paul glances at him over his shoulder. Till glances up to meet his eyes.

“What’s wrong?” Paul asks softly, still maintaining that higher pitched voice with a sympathetic expression, turning to face him, the water sloshing. Till blinks. He supposes his deep thinking was showing on his face. He shrugs.

“Nothing. Now raise your arm for me, little one.”

He nods and raises one arm, his other hand resting atop the edge of the bathtub as Till begins scrubbing the soapy sponge up over his side, across his underarm, to his elbow. Paul shifts and laughs, earning a glance from Till.

“Tickles,” Paul whispers. Till’s lips twitch with a slight smile, though it fades away. He gently clutches Paul’s wrist in his big hand and lowers his arm to begin running the sponge over his forearm and bicep, covering his freckled skin in thick suds.

“Other arm,” Till commands softly. Paul is silent as he obeys. Till repeats the process; scrubs over his side and underarm, cleans his arm thoroughly. Paul watches Till with an ever-present smile on his face, his eyes lidded and cheeks flushed. Till leans in to peck him on the lips—Paul returns it with a giggle.

“Get up on your knees,” Till murmurs, dipping the sponge and squeezing more body wash onto it. Paul does as he’s told; he raises himself up onto his knees, placing his slim hands on the rim of the tub. Till looks up at him with a slight smile. Paul is biting his lip, his wet hair dripping, his cheeks pink. He’s so cute. Till leans in to kiss him on the tummy and then cups a broad hand around his side, holding him still as he begins to rub the sponge over his abs and chest. He’s so muscular, and yet so slender—it makes him unusually beautiful, and hot, and cute, all wrapped up in one perfect little package.

“You’re so perfect,” Till muses, vocalizing his thoughts with a cheeky glance up towards Paul’s blushing face, “You’re my perfect little boy. I could eat you up. I bet you would taste sweet.”

He runs one hand up through the mess of soap across Paul’s front, to thumb at one of his hard nipples, before it descends around his side, fingers extended to stroke across his back. Till leans in to kiss him on the hip, and then withdraws to look up at him with a slight smile. Paul shudders and remains silent for a second, seemingly flustered with his eyes searching in Till’s, his mouth slightly open.

“Th-thank you, daddy,” Paul whispers, and then brings a hand up to suck his thumb into his mouth—as if he were flustered, overwhelmed. Till nearly gapes at him. He’s never seen him do that before. He stares, slightly shocked, as Paul nurses at his thumb, eyes averting shyly, his cheeks a rosy pink, eyelashes long and wet. He looks speechlessly adorable. Well, damn. He supposes he should sweet talk him more, if he gets that kind of reaction.

Till doesn’t comment on it. He goes back to scrubbing the sponge over his thighs and hips—he silently nudges Paul’s thighs apart before he begins to rub the soapy sponge along the inside of them. Till pauses, debating where he should go from here. He supposes he may as well be thorough, right? Paul would probably encourage this.

Setting down the sponge, he grabs the body wash and squeezes a small dollop into his palm. He rubs his hands together until it suds, clears his throat, and reaches back in. Paul jerks and sucks in a breath around his thumb when Till gently cradles his more fragile parts in his big hand and begins running his soapy fingers over his balls and soft shaft. Or rather, his _stiffening_ shaft. Till pauses when he feels Paul getting hard in his hand. He glances up to see Paul watching with lidded eyes, his thumb still in his mouth, his cute pink lips latched around it securely.

“Sorry, daddy,” Paul whispers around his thumb, his other hand clenching into a loose fist atop the rim of the tub. Till is momentarily speechless. Paul getting stiff in his hand, looking down at him like that, _while_ calling him ‘daddy’? Till feels himself getting fucking hard in his pants. Jesus.

“It’s okay, Paulchen,” Till mutters. God damnit. Now he just wants to fuck Paul to Hell and back. But he’s not particularly allowed—at least, not yet. Paul is silent as Till finishes cleaning his “privates”. Till peeks up towards him. A slight grin is on Paul’s face, curling around the thumb in his mouth. He must be aware of Till’s own developing erection. It’s not like his sweatpants were designed to hide raging hard-ons. Saying nothing, Till rinses his hands and says lowly, “We don’t need to wash your hair. But you need to wash your face, Paulchen.”

“Okay, daddy,” Paul says, and then moves to sit back down in the mass of bubbles again. Till rests against the wall beside the tub, watching with a slight smile and lidded eyes as Paul leans forward to begin scrubbing at his face with the soap swarming around him. He should be using the face wash that he typically uses every day, but Till supposes he’s adopting that child-like ignorance again. He lets him and just watches fondly.

After Paul plays with the bubbles and splashes water on Till a few times, giggling the entire time, Till has him get out of the tub, dripping with water and soap. Till grabs one of the big fluffy towels from the shelf and wraps it around Paul’s shivering body. Paul leans into him heavily, nuzzling into his neck—his wet hair presses to Till’s cheek and jaw. Till holds him close, squeezing him in his arms.

“You’re a good boy,” Till murmurs lowly, stroking a hand over Paul’s back through the thick towel. Paul whines.

“Let’s dry you off,” Till says, and then pulls away. Paul looks at him with a pouty expression on his face as Till unravels the towel from around him to begin ruffling it over his chest and belly. Till arches a brow at him as he runs it over his arms, his sides.

“Can we go out to the park today, daddy?” Paul asks softly. Till teasingly throws the towel over his head. Paul pauses and clutches it in his hands. He begins vigorously shaking his hair out with it, face hidden from Till. Till watches him fondly.

“Sure. After breakfast?”

Paul yanks the towel down and looks at Till with wide eyes.

“Cuddling first! Then breakfast. And then we can go to the park!”

Till smiles faintly. He reaches out to ruffle Paul’s wild red hair affectionately.

 

In Till’s bed, it’s warm. Paul is laying on his side before him, entirely naked from his bath. His hair is messy. He breathes slowly, his torso expanding and deflating with every inhale and exhale. Till is spooning him from behind, calloused hand resting over Paul’s chest, feeling the tickle of his chest hair against his skin. The covers are pulled over them, tangled amongst their legs. Paul smells like vanilla. Till noses at the back of his neck, inhaling his scent.

They’ve been cuddling so much more now that they’ve begun this roleplaying. Paul is naturally an affectionate person, but he doesn’t push for so much cuddling outside of the playing. Maybe it’s something he wants, but doesn’t ask for? Pulling Till from his musing, Paul speaks softly, breaking the silence.

“Love you, daddy,” he mumbles sleepily, and then turns in the ring of Till’s arm to rest on his back, looking up at him with fond eyes and a warm smile. Till searches his face—his pink lips, his kind eyes, his small eyebrows, his laugh lines, his cute little nose with the strong bridge. He looks devastatingly young, smooth and baby-faced as he appears to be when shaven. He doesn’t look thirty-seven, he doesn’t look like he’s coming up on forty at all. He looks like he’s, at most, twenty. Till leans in to kiss him. Paul hums happily and brings a slender hand up to cup the back of his head, fingers roaming across his buzzed hair.

This is definitely inappropriate to do with your kid. Till doesn’t care. He kisses him passionately, hand sliding down from his chest, to rest over his abs. He mouths at his soft lips, tastes the taste of him, of his saliva, of his tongue, of his mouth. Paul bites his tongue between his teeth, gently, teasingly. Till brings his hand up from his stomach to clutch at his hair, cradling the back of his head tenderly. He holds him intimately in his arms, in his hands, as he continues kissing him, heavily, with his tongue slipping into Paul’s. He bites his lips, breaks away to mouth at his chin and jaw, leaving him panting, and then goes back to kissing him; Paul responds weakly, hands sliding down the back of Till’s neck to rest lightly on his broad shoulders.

Paul begins to gasp for breath in-between their mashing lips. He’s making slight noises against Till’s mouth, fidgeting underneath him. He slides a hand down to press it to Till’s chest—he begins to gently push until Till stops trying to kiss the damn life out of him. Till pulls back, breathing heavily, and opens his eyes to look down at Paul. Paul is flushed, his hair wild, eyes wide and trained up on him. His lips are swollen and wet.

“Sorry,” Till says breathlessly, smiling slightly, “I got a little carried away, looking at my pretty boy.”

Paul grins, panting, his face a mixture of amusement and surprise. Till kisses him on the forehead.

“I’ll cook us up some eggs, sausage, and toast. How does that sound, Paulchen?” he murmurs, resting his forehead against Paul’s. Paul hums and arches up to smooch Till on the lips, angling his head with his hand cupping the side of Till’s face, feeling the scratch of his developing stubble. Till feels warmth burst in his chest at that. He smiles, hidden between them.

“Good, daddy,” he whispers, and then kisses him again. Till doesn’t want to get up from the bed, but he has to if he wants to restrain himself from pinning Paul down and kissing him all over. He takes in a breath, and then strips off the blankets. He’s greeted with the sight of Paul’s nude body. Oh, yeah. Till snorts and looks over to meet Paul’s shy gaze.

“First, let’s get you dressed, hm?”

 

* * *

 

After a peaceful breakfast which Till cooks for the both of them, occupied with easy, aimless conversation and back and forth teasing, Till puts a jacket on Paul and leads him out through the front door into the warm afternoon, the sun washing over them. Paul is squinting, watching with a slight smile as Till locks up his place. Adjusting his beanie, Till turns back to Paul. Paul’s smile grows. He holds out a hand. Till glances around, wary of paparazzi. Paul notices and huffs.

“Nevermind, then. Let’s just go, daddy.”

“You can hold my hand later,” Till murmurs, “At the park.”

“Okay.”

Till nods and begins pacing out towards the road. Paul hops after him and walks animatedly beside him. He reaches out to grab onto the bottom of Till’s coat, clingy. Till finds it annoying, the involuntary tugging on his jacket with every opposing step, but he lets him get away with it despite his subtle irritation. Paul starts to hum what sounds like… Nebel? Till smiles slightly to himself.

They walk in peaceful silence for a while. The breeze is strong today, ruffling their clothing and the few red locks peeking out from under Paul’s own gray beanie—worn to hide his recognizable hair from any paparazzi that may spot them at the park. Till lives in a pretty area of the city; trees and plant life surround them as they stroll past lines of nice houses and the occasional apartment complex. Eventually, they break out of the neighborhood area onto a more populated road, but not far from it is a small patch of woods that breaks out into the nearby park. Till guides Paul down a pathway that leads into the woods, and that’s when he reaches down to take his hand. He threads their fingers together. Paul squeezes Till’s.

Bugs chirp and fly around them as they pace through the trees, leaves and sticks crunching underfoot, joined by the distant sound of cars. Paul starts to swing their arms back and forth, humming Seemann now. Till is thankful of the silence. He isn’t feeling particularly chatty at the moment; he just wants to absorb the nature around them. Paul seems to be on the same page, for he doesn’t disturb the moment.

Eventually, they break out from the pathway through the small woods to enter the park; a wide, long valley of grass, decorated by stone pathways and benches, picnic tables, and a single set of playground equipment, as well as a row of swings. The majority of the park is just grass, spacious and endless, for playing sports or anything of the like. Till likes coming here to read. He likes coming here to smoke when it’s raining. He likes coming here to feed the squirrels and small birds at seven in the morning when he can’t sleep well.

“I’m so excited, daddy!” Paul bellows suddenly, and then flings himself at Till—Till manages to catch him, taking a step back as he bears the weight of the smaller man. Laughing, Till readjusts his hold on him; hooking one muscular arm under his backside, the other around his shoulders. Paul wraps his legs around his waist and rests his cheek on his shoulder. Flustered, Till glances around and is relieved to find there’s hardly anyone here. Just a handful of people; a couple seated on a blanket, a grandmother with her grandson walking their dog, and a woman reading on a bench. The playground is empty. Till begins towards it, exhaling deeply. It’s different doing this in public.

“Will you push me on the swings?” Paul gushes, squeezing his legs around Till, practically hopping up and down against his side, which has him staggering. Till sputters a laugh and tries not to lose his composure. He regains his footing as Paul continues with a high-pitched voice, “Please! Please, please, pleaaase!”

“Of course, I will,” Till says lowly, face burning, flustered. Paul nuzzles into him and says happily, “Thank you, daddy! It’s gonna be so fun!”

Till curses internally and hoists Paul higher up against his side as he continues walking across the grass to reach the swings. He’s anxious about the other people staring, but he just shoves away his paranoia. He’s used to the staring. Although, in this case, it’s a little different.

Paul’s lips are soft and warm against his ear, kissing at him placatingly, tenderly. Till feels one hand spread out across his broad back, touching him through his black turtleneck. Paul whispers to him, saying, “There is always an option to stop. You don’t have to do this if it’s beyond your comfort.”

“It’s not,” Till mutters gruffly, and then they reach the swings. Paul smooches him on the cheek, before Till begins to set him down. Till reaches up to teasingly pull the beanie further down over Paul’s head, covering his face. Paul laughs and reaches up to fix it, looking up at Till, a beaming smile lighting up his boyish face. Till pats his head and then gestures to the swings with a jut of his chin.

Paul happily rushes over to throw himself onto one; he lays over the swing, which digs into his stomach, and pushes himself. He begins swinging back and forth, legs curled up with his arms holding tight around the seat of the swing. He didn’t anticipate losing his grip and slipping off mid-swing to splat face first onto the smooth pebbles which make up the base of the playground. Till covers his face with a hand, shaking with silent laughter.

“Please try not to break any limbs while we’re here,” Till says, grinning, watching Paul move to get up, dusty from the rocks. The swing pivots forward to smack into his ass. Paul stumbles forward and catches himself on his hands. He bursts out laughing then, while Till shakes his head.

“Do I have to come over and help you?” Till calls, teasing. Paul straightens up, brushes himself off, and throws a grin back towards the other man. He shakes his head and then steps around the swing to properly sit down on it. He grips the chains, and then pushes off the ground. He begins to swing back and forth lazily, gazing up at the lovely blue sky with joy on his face. Till watches, smiling faintly. Paul is so easily pleased, it’s endearing.

“Come and push me, daddy!” Paul calls, kicking his legs out enthusiastically with radiant wide eyes. Till huffs, glances around warily for any nearby park-goers who may have heard that exclamation. They’re alone; he supposes Paul would be careful. Paul is always careful. Till nods. He paces out to join him at the swing, the pebbles noisily shifting underfoot.

He stands beside him, grips the chain firmly in his calloused hands, and then _pulls_ Paul back, taking three steps back, earning a giddy laugh, and then thrusts him forward with a running push that has the pebbles flying behind him. It sends Paul up a great distance, but not as great as Till recalls—but he supposes the difference in a thirty-seven year old man and a ten year old girl would affect that. He steps out of the way as Paul comes swinging back. He soars forward again, swinging his legs back and forth to maintain the momentum. His beanie goes flying off. It lands in the grass. Paul’s smile is broad and teeth-baring, his eyes squeezed shut, his red locks whipping around his face. He’s laughing and calling Till’s name. Till watches him fondly, pushes him forward a little more every time with a single hand as he starts to swing past him again, keeping up the pace.

Paul looks like he’s genuinely having fun, and it’s not an act anymore. Till loves seeing the joy on his face. The carefreeness.

Stepping behind Paul again, he waits for him to swing back before grabbing the chains and rearing him backwards, and then pushing him forward with a running start, which has Paul laughing and going higher than before; Till ducks under the swing to pass underneath him. He turns to watch Paul rush back, the swing set creaking loudly in protest. Paul is grinning, his hair wild and clothing whipping around his slender body. He kicks his legs out as he pass over Till. Till reaches up to spank him as he rises over him—Paul cracks up laughing as he swings back again.

For five more minutes, Paul continues swinging happily, Till occasionally stepping in to accelerate him again, until Paul gets bored of this and jumps off mid-swing to land in the pebbles with a roll. Till applauds him as Paul rises and brushes himself off again. He grins at Till and then goes running up to him to throw himself against him, wrapping his arms around him and hugging him so tightly it has Till grunting from the strain. Paul buries his face into his shoulder and says softly, muffled by his turtleneck, “Thank you, daddy. I love you.”

Till’s face warms. He hugs him in return, turning his face towards him to nose at his red locks. He kisses him on the temple.

“…Love you, too. Now go grab your beanie.”

Paul kisses him on the check with a noisy smooch and then breaks away to run for his beanie previously abandoned on the grass. He snatches it up and then tugs it down over his head, spinning on his heel to look at Till—he has his beanie pulled down to his nose, his lips in a pursed smile. He’s so cute. If they weren’t in public, Till would walk over and kiss him like that.

“Let me ride your back now, Till!” Paul calls, adjusting the beanie on his head, hiding his vibrant hair again. Till nods and dutifully begins to cross the grass to join him. Paul meets him halfway, bouncing excitedly. Paul is vibrating with anticipation as Till turns his back to him and crouches. He holds his arms out and waits expectantly. Paul eagerly climbs on, leaning into his broad back, his arms winding around Till’s shoulders, his legs hooked into Till’s arms. Till grunts with strain when he stands again. Paul wiggles on his back, adjusting his position. It’s easy once Till regains his footing. Paul isn’t that heavy.

The sleeves of Paul’s jacket are soft against Till’s neck as he clings to him. He hugs Till tightly and demands gleefully, “Take me over to the trees, again!”

“Okay, Paulchen. Let’s go back to the trees.”

Till readjusts his hold on Paul and then turns back to the woods from where they came. He feels Paul rest his cheek on his head, against his beanie. He clutches weak fistfuls of Till’s turtleneck, clinging to him. Till likes this. This is intimate. Paul seems happy, so Till is happy.

 

* * *

 

Back at home, Paul purposefully struggles to get his shoes undone; Till has to crouch down and help him. After his feet are bare and his jacket is hung, Paul enters the living room and splats on the couch, seemingly tired. Till silently puts away his boots before joining the other man. He stands over him, arches a brow. Paul looks up at him with a sleepy smile. He scoots closer to the edge of the couch, looks up at Till with hopeful eyes.

“Carry me?” he asks, reaching out for him. Till is getting a little tired from carrying him around the last two hours, but he can bear it for a while longer. He nods. Beaming, Paul gets up on his knees on the couch and continues reaching for him. Till steps closer and bends over at the waist to gather him in his arms; he hooks one under his backside, the other winding around his back. He pulls Paul up—Paul wraps his arms and legs around him. Till hoists him higher up, readjusting his arm underneath him, that hand gripping his thigh, and cradles him against his front. Paul nuzzles into his neck.

“This is getting easier every time,” Till comments lowly, and begins to rock him without even really realizing that he is; it’s out of habit, because whenever he held Nele like this, she got the same treatment. Paul is silent, clinging to him, and then says softly, “I feel safe when you hold me like this. I like it.”

“Good,” Till murmurs, stroking his hand over his back. That’s when he realizes he’s rocking him side to side, with a slight up and down motion. He stops, embarrassed. Paul squeezes his legs around him and whines quietly, “Don’t stop.”

Till hesitates a moment, and then goes back to rocking him. Even if they’ve been doing this for three months or so now, there are still some things to get used to. They’ve only done, maybe, eight sessions due to their hectic schedules and limited time. Sometimes, when they meet up, they don’t engage in the acting, purely out of unaligned moods. Sometimes, Till just wants to fuck the entire time they have privacy, and Paul goes along with it, sparing Till the trouble of creating a distance due to their “innocent” roleplaying. It’s not like Paul constantly wants to be a child, either, too.

“You want to sit down and watch some cartoons?” Till asks softly, breaking out of his thinking amongst the silence of rocking the smaller man in his arms. “I’ll let you have some of your treats, too.”

Paul makes a sleepy noise into his shoulder.

“I just want daddy to hold me,” he mumbles, seemingly dozing against Till—he’s speaking sluggishly. Till lets out a breath. His arms are starting to ache from the strain of cradling him for so long, but it’s bearable. So he nods and says quietly, “Alright, baby. I’ll just hold you, then.”

“Mmm,” Paul hums another tired noise and nuzzles into his shoulder. His legs and arms have gone somewhat limp around him. Till turns his face towards him and is met with a burst of red locks that tickle his skin. He noses at his ear and at the buzzed hair behind it, while he continues rocking him in his strong arms. Paul’s slender fingers are suddenly touching at the back of Till’s neck, stroking weakly. Till smiles faintly, hidden against Paul’s hair.

 

Eventually, Till has to put him back down due to his arms nearly giving out. Paul whines but relents, and instead grabs Till’s big fingers in his smaller hand and sleepily claims he wants snacks while rubbing at an eye with a fist. Till tiredly nods and waits for him to stand before leading him into the kitchen. There, he flips on the light and then pulls open the fridge. Paul tugs at his fingers and mumbles, peeking over his broad shoulder, “A pudding cup, please. Andddd some apple slices? Oh, and I want a Capri-Sun…”

Till reaches out to grab an apple, a pudding cup (a vanilla and chocolate mixture), and a Capri-Sun from the box. He passes the pudding cup and Capri-Sun to Paul, who clutches them happily, before shutting the fridge and approaching the counter. Setting the apple on a cutting board, he digs out an apple divider, as well as a spoon, which he also gives to Paul. After aligning the apple divider, he easily slices through it with a slam of the tool meeting the cutting board, breaking it apart.

Without a word, Till grabs one of the smaller bowls from the cabinet and sweeps the apple slices into it. He tosses the apple divider into the sink, along with the small cutting board, and leads Paul into the living room. Paul pads after him excitedly, smiling. Till sets the bowl on the coffee table, and then waits for Paul to take a seat on the couch.

“I wanna watch you play that pinball game again!” Paul exclaims as he sets his snacks down on the coffee table as well, before bundling up under the quilt thrown over the couch. Till arches a brow and asks lowly, “Space Cadet?”

“Yeah!” Paul gushes, grinning up at him.

Till nods, reaches out to ruffle his crimson hair, and then departs to fetch his laptop from his bedroom. He returns with both his laptop and Paul’s planet/spaceship blanket which he snagged from the guest bedroom. Paul lights up at the sight of his blanket in Till’s hand, the straw of his Capri-Sun between his lips. He sets down the Capri-Sun and reaches out for the blanket, closing and opening his hands in a ‘gimme’ gesture that has Till smiling faintly. He tosses it over his head; Paul pulls it off and hugs it to himself, saying happily, “Thank you for bringing me my blankie, daddy!”

Saying nothing, Till just pats his hair again and then takes a heavy seat on the couch beside him, jostling the smaller man. He sets down his heavy laptop and cracks it open to boot it up. Paul immediately scoots closer. He wiggles against him and gets comfortable against his side. He grabs his Capri-Sun and begins nursing at it, watching excitedly as the laptop screen flickers to life.

 

After entertaining Paul for nearly half an hour playing that pinball game, Paul eventually stops responding enthusiastically. That’s when Till realizes Paul is being unusually quiet. Ten minutes into the game playing, Paul had slipped down from leaning against Till to resting his head in his lap, and watched from the low angle. Glancing down, Till realizes he must’ve fallen asleep soon after.

His eyes are closed, his thumb in his mouth, his lips lax around it—he’s breathing slowly and deeply. Till wonders if he was worn out from all the running around. As far as he’s aware, Paul slept fine last night.

He doesn’t wake him up. He reaches out to shut off his laptop, and then tries his best to move out from underneath him without disturbing him. It proves to be a failure: Paul’s eyes weakly crack open. He looks up to meet Till’s gaze. Till presses a finger to his lips, shushing him. Paul smiles at him sleepily as Till rises from the couch. He turns to face Paul, and then leans over to gingerly slide both arms underneath him; under his knees, the other under his back. Paul makes a slight noise when Till hoists him up, as gently as he can manage.

It’s a little harder doing it smoothly considering Paul is a thirty-seven year old man and around one hundred and seventy pounds. Till is strong, as it is evident in his rather muscular arms, so he isn’t fearful of dropping him. He has to readjust his hold on him, at the very least. Paul rests his head against his shoulder and clutches his blanket to himself. Till begins towards the hallway.

He nudges open the guest room door with a foot and then enters the darkness. The light spilling in from the hallway is a soft illumination, providing enough visuality to guide Till to the bed. He leans over to carefully set Paul’s lax body atop the bed. Till slides his arms out from underneath him, earning a soft whine and a sleepy glance from gray eyes. Till reaches out to stroke lovingly at his ruby locks, and then leans in to tenderly kiss him on the forehead. Paul’s eyes are closed again when Till leans away to search his face.

The faint light seeping into the room barely illuminates his face. He can make out his eyelashes against his cheeks, his slightly open mouth, his unkempt hair. Till is momentarily speechless and frozen, watching him. He feels strange, suddenly, feeling odd that his life has led up to this point. That he’s watching Paul sleep, with the guise that he a child and Till his guardian. Till feels suspended in the moment, trapped in the feeling of fondness he holds for the younger man. He would do anything for him. Even this.

He doesn’t want to leave him, but he doesn’t want to disturb his sleep, so he simply tucks a blanket around him and strokes his soft locks once more before stepping out of the room quietly. He leaves the door slightly ajar.

 

Till spends the next hour cleaning up the kitchen and living room from today’s events. The pans and dishes from their breakfast, Paul’s toys and coloring book from the living room. He then sits down with a book and manages to read for ten minutes before suddenly he hears the creaking of the door down the hallway, followed by the shuffling of footsteps. And broken sobbing.

Freezing, Till is momentarily stunned by what he’s hearing, until Paul comes walking out of the hallway, clutching his blanket to himself. Till sees the tears running down his face, his mouth in a twisted grimace as he sobs, and then Till is shoving up off the couch and crossing the distance of the living room to gently cradle his head in his hands, fingers in his hair.

“What—What happened?” Till asks firmly with panicked eyes, rather startled and stunned from what he’s seeing. He’s never witnessed Paul cry like this before—the closest had been when he was high out of his mind, but that was different because he was just _high._ Now he’s crying like—like a child. Paul doesn’t answer; he just takes in a shuddering, hitching breath and starts sobbing again, his wet, reddened eyes cracking open to look at Till with hurt in them.

“Paul, seriously, talk to me,” Till says shakily, and then his body catches up with what’s happening; he pulls Paul into a tight hug. Paul drops his blanket and clings to him, shuddering and hiccuping. What the fuck is even happening right now? Till is in disbelief.

“I’m a little disturbed right now,” Till huffs with concern, “Why are you crying?”

It takes a minute. Paul just sniffles and takes in weak, shaky breaths, squeezing fistfuls of Till’s tight turtleneck, and nuzzles desperately into his shoulder, his tears wetting the fabric. Till just holds him, resting his cheek against the side of his head, against his bedhead hair. He waits patiently. Anxiety is curling in his gut like a snake, a fear that he did something wrong.

“Shit, I’m really sorry,” Paul mumbles weakly into his shoulder, squeezing his muscular arms tightly around Till. “I don’t know what came over me. I’m sorry for freaking you out.”

Till lets out a breath and asks lowly, pressing his lips to Paul’s head in a comforting kiss, “What happened? Was it something I did, or did not do?”

Paul is silent for a second. He takes in a few more breaths and then begins to slowly pull away. Till releases him, trails his hands over Paul’s arms until they find his; he clutches his fingers in his, so he can’t pull away entirely. Paul is looking at the floor, seemingly embarrassed, or perhaps ashamed. He then glances up to Till, showing him his reddened face and swelling eyes. His nose is running. Paul slips one hand from Till’s to rub it off with a wrist.

“I think this time,” Paul begins quietly, his voice a little hoarse, “I regressed a little too far. It wasn’t your fault at all, Till. ”

Till looks at him with a furrowed brow, confused. Paul sighs. He raises a hand to sluggishly run it down over his tired, reddened face.

“Let’s sit down,” Till suggests. Paul solemnly nods. Till guides him to the couch, and they take a seat—Paul immediately scoots over to rest against Till’s side. Till draws an arm around him and squeezes his bicep encouragingly, comfortingly. Paul clears his throat and continues.

“That happens when I let go too much, you know? Like… It’s hard to explain. I strip away too many layers of adulthood that I’ve come to develop, and then I’m more vulnerable,” he says softly, gesturing weakly with a slender hand, “I woke up alone, in the dark, and I felt like you wouldn’t come back for me, and it scared me. I felt abandoned. I started crying before I even realized I was having those irrational thoughts.”

Till understands a little more now. Sometimes he would have moments like that, where he would step out of the skin of his humanity to embrace the dark, disgusting parts of him to write what needs to be written. It would leave him feeling odd, like something was crawling in him, and _out_ of him. Left him feeling gaping and vulnerable, depending on how deep he goes and what he has to dig up.

“I understand,” Till murmurs. He strokes his hand up and down over Paul’s bicep. “I’m sorry that I left you. Next time, I’ll stay.”

“It’s not your fault,” Paul insists in a growl, pressing his face into Till’s shoulder, “It’s not.”

Till says nothing. He just raises his hand to cup it over the side of Paul’s head and kisses his forehead, in an intimate gesture.

 

* * *

 

The next time they meet up for another session three weeks later, Till opens the front door upon hearing the sound of gravel crunching under the tires of a car. He glances out, sees Paul’s car and said man behind the wheel. Till is happy to see him, and it shows ever-so-subtly in the slight upturn of his lips. Paul turns off the car, throws open his door after unbuckling his seat belt, and then steps out. He waves happily at Till, to which the other man responds with a raise of a hand, and then pulls open the backseat door to grab his carry-on sized suitcase from the seat. He locks up his car and begins up the driveway, beaming at Till as he carries his suitcase up to the front door. He’s wearing a [simple long-sleeved black top](https://78.media.tumblr.com/6db7871e257a9b438b1a1f032f438bd7/tumblr_pfizxvtusk1wffjmmo1_500.jpg) and a pair of black pants that hang loosely on his legs, joined by strapped boots.

“Hey,” Paul greets, ascending the three steps leading towards the door. He places a hand on Till’s bicep, fingers clutching his car keys, and leans in to kiss him on the cheek. Till gives him a tight-lipped smile and a nod. Paul grins at him and then enters the house. Till pans the area, wary of on-lookers as usual, and follows Paul into the house, locking the door behind himself.

Paul set his suitcase on the floor by the couch and returns his keys to his pants pocket. Then he turns to Till, smiles, and extends his arms out in a gesture for a hug. Till gladly steps forward and brings his arms around him in a firm, but brief, hug. Paul makes sure to grab him and place a purposeful, strong peck to his lips as soon as Till begins to pull away. Till softens at that. He reaches up to stroke an affectionate thumb over Paul’s cheek; the touch is met with a scratchy texture. He huffs a slight laugh.

“You’re becoming a big boy. Look at that stubble.”

Snorting, Paul rolls his eyes and then muses cheekily with his hands on his hips, “You should see where else I’ve got hair now. It’ll blow your mind.”

Till pauses, and then bursts out a sharp laugh with a teeth-baring grin growing on his rugged face, bringing out the prominent laugh lines on his cheeks. Paul’s crow’s feet appear when his own smile extends. Till continues chuckling as he pulls Paul into another hug. Paul leans into him and returns it with a firm squeeze. Till’s soft laughter dies off. He kisses Paul on the head among red locks, and then against his temple, saying lowly, “I missed you. This happens every time; when we’re apart it seems easy, but when I see you again, I realize what I’ve been missing.”

“I missed you, too, Till,” Paul murmurs quietly, sounding genuine. Till gives him one more tight squeeze and then lets him go again. This time, Till is the one to kiss him in a brief purse of his lips that Paul happily returns, a smile curling at his mouth.

“I have something to give you,” Till says, taking Paul’s hand. Paul blinks, surprised. He lets Till guide him down the hallway by the hand, and into Till’s bedroom. He releases Paul’s hand and then grabs the plastic bag which has sat in a lump on his bed for the last four hours. He digs out the gift from within and holds it out with a more passive look on his face, secretly anxious about what he might think.

Paul reaches up to take it gingerly in his slender hands, eyes wide, his small eyebrows practically raised to his hairline. Paul’s surprised expression shifts to happiness. He grins broadly and looks at Till with excited eyes.

“You got me a stuffed turtle!” Paul gasps, and then clutches it close to his chest, holding it so dearly to himself. He looks at Till with a jutted bottom lip and touched eyes. Till clears his throat. He nods. Paul brings the stuffed turtle up to his face to kiss it three times and then he throws his arms around Till and kisses _him_ three times. By now, Till is silently flustered.

“I love it!” Paul gushes, withdrawing again to stare at the thing with awe, “It’s so cute! I’ll have to think of what to name it!”

“I’m glad you like it,” Till says. Paul looks at him with a giddy smile and then reaches out to take Till’s hand. He squeezes it as he says warmly, “I love it. Thank you, Till. You’re throwing me into the mood so quickly. I barely got here.”

Till snorts.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself. I’m going to fuck you before we even start.”

Paul blinks widely, seemingly taken off-guard by that statement. But then he grins cheekily and nods. He winds his arm around Till’s shoulders, pulls him in for a more passionately placed kiss. Till returns it, slides his broad hands around Paul’s waist to rest on his back. He kisses him firmly, his lips moving with Paul’s, a deep overlapping that has the smaller man humming into it. Then Paul pulls away to search in his hooded green eyes.

“So you bought the turtle to use as a sex toy, then,” Paul says with a grin on his kissed lips, his eyes bright and amused. Till smiles faintly.

“I am curious to hear how you think it would be used.”

“I have some ideas.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are going well. Unexpectedly, Paul takes it to the next level.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to have this publicly published, because I actually like this fic, but I'm not going to own up to the content matter, so alas.

The afternoon has been bleeding into the evening. Slow and quiet, time passes. Paul’s energy is low today. He has mostly been focused on his own tasks—coloring, reading, watching movies, playing with his toys—albeit, lethargically. Till wonders if it’s a strange mood, or if he’s just plain tired.

And now, the final scene of _Mulan_ is playing on the TV. Till had been up, preparing dinner—a lazy combination of leftover fish, a shoddy attempt at a salad, and rice. With a bowl of Paul’s favorite: grapes. Till had reentered the living room to bring him to the kitchen table, but upon stepping around the couch, he sees Paul submerged in his nest of blankets—all more colorful and childlike than the last. What’s peculiar about this is Paul is stretched out like a cat on its back; his body is lazily arched as he lays slumped atop the blankets, his hoodie hiked up to his chest, revealing his abs and cleanly shaven belly. His head is submerged in the blankets, but Till can see his jaw, his cute lips, and the fact he has his thumb in his mouth. His other hand is limply laying up against the mound of blankets by his head.

He’s breathing slowly. Till supposes he fell asleep. Maybe he really is tired. Catching up on the sleep he’s lacked throughout the week, maybe, before he came over for the weekend. Till steps around the couch and kneels beside him. He reaches out to gently brush back the blankets. Revealed to him is his clean-shaven face, his closed eyes, his eyelashes resting upon his cheeks. His red hair is wild. Till tries to wake him gently.

“Paul,” he murmurs. Paul’s eyes open. He blinks sluggishly and looks up towards him. He pulls his thumb from his mouth and licks his lips. His gray eyes are heavy and a little bloodshot. Till sympathizes with the evident exhaustion. Till leans in and kisses his forehead.

“It’s time to eat. Then you can nap again.”

Paul nods sleepily. Then, with Till watching, he stretches out his legs, toes flexing, arms raising, back lengthening. He groans as multiple joints pop. Till smiles. He reaches out to pat Paul on the tummy before pulling his hoodie back down. Paul giggles and then rolls onto his side, to curl around Till’s kneeling form. He clings to him and nuzzles his face into his thigh. Till brings his hand down to begin stroking at his wild red locks. Paul hums and sleepily speaks, saying, “You’re warm. Why don’t you cuddle with me?”

“Because we need to eat our dinner,” Till murmurs, his broad fingers roaming downwards to touch at Paul’s neck, feeling the fine hairs there. Paul’s hands squeeze his back, and then he’s huffing. He moves to tiredly sit up, looking at Till with a pout.

“Okay,” he mumbles, looking down to watch himself begin playing with one of the blankets, “I am kinda hungry…”

“Come on, then,” Till says gently, reaching out to take his hand. He moves to stand. Paul does the same; though he staggers forward slightly, unbalanced on his feet considering he had just woken up. Till smiles faintly and then begins to walk him to the dining table. Paul silently follows along, squeezing Till’s hand.

“Get comfortable. I’ll bring your plate in,” Till instructs, glancing back towards him. Paul nods, bringing a hand up to begin nibbling at his thumb. Till lets his hand go and waits for him to curl up on one of the dining chairs before he departs to enter the kitchen. There, he gathers Paul’s plate, and the little bowl of grapes before bringing them out to the dining table. His plate is plastic and has a childlike pattern of stars and planets across its plum-colored surface. The bowl is matching, as well as his utensils.

He places the plate of fish, salad, and rice before Paul, followed by the bowl of grapes. Paul claps his hands together and happily says, “This looks yummy, daddy!”

“Good,” Till murmurs, cupping one hand around the side of Paul’s head as he leans in to kiss him on the crown, nose among tangled locks of ruby. He smells nice. Till smiles faintly to himself. He speaks in a low whisper, asking with heat rising to his face, “Do you want your… Sippy cup?”

They bought him one, due to Paul’s suggestion and occasional desire to make use of it despite his typically practiced age group. Paul hums and reaches out to grab his gaudy, purple-colored fork in a fist. He shrugs.

“I’m okay.”

Till nods. Then he reaches out to gently slap Paul’s hand, saying firmly, “Not until I say.”

Paul realizes his mistake and immediately releases the fork, before looking up at Till with a jut of his bottom lip and apologetic eyes.

“Sorry, daddy.”

“It’s alright. What do you want to drink?”

Paul’s eyes brighten up.

“Juice!”

“Alright. What kind?”

“Well… I already have grapes with me,” Paul muses, reaching out to touch at the bowl with a single fingertip, a thoughtful expression on his face, before brightly looking up at Till again, “So, I think orange!”

“Sure. I’ll be right back. And don’t touch your food.”

Paul beams.

“Thank you, daddy! I promise I won’t.”

Till nods and leaves him to reenter the kitchen. There, he fills Paul’s space-patterned cup with orange juice. He grabs his own full plate and brings both to the table. Setting the cup by Paul’s plate, earning a happy ‘thank you!’ (Paul is so polite, it’s endearing), Till then sets his plate down between his own utensils and takes a seat. Paul is positioned at the head of the table, so Till sits to his right, facing him.

Paul is seated with his legs curled up, knees against his chest, which is cute, but can’t be tolerated. Till clears his throat and speaks up, while taking his fork in hand, “I want you to sit properly.”

Nodding, Paul obediently unravel his legs and places his feet on the floor. Till meets his wide, approval-seeking eyes and says, “Thank you. Now you can eat.”

Smiling, Paul eagerly nods and then snatches up his fork.

 

Throughout dinner, Paul rambles about his dreams, about nonsensical and infantile things, and yammers on about his days at home with his family, as well as evenings and conversations he’s shared with their bandmates. He’s noticeably more energetic and engaging. Till supposes the nap helped.

In the middle of a story about going to the beach with Richard, Paul demonstrates by curling one hand into a fist, his other hand slapping against it before he withdraws that hand with fingers outstretched, as he vocalizes the sound of a wave crashing. And then goes on to describe how it sprayed all over him and Richard had just laughed, and laughed, until Paul grabbed a handful of sand—which he, once again demonstrated with a scoop and tightening of his fist—before he dumped it on Richard’s head because, of course, it would ruin his perfectly gelled hair. By then, Paul is giggling as he recounts how Richard chased him down the beach until he had slipped on beached seaweed and planted face first in the wet sand. Till smiles throughout it, watching him fondly. Paul pops grapes into his mouth in-between his sentences, until Till can barely understand what he’s saying, but he doesn’t scold him for talking with his mouth full, for he finds it painfully adorable. He loves seeing the stars in his eyes, the joy, and he doesn’t want to dampen it with unnecessary scolding.

Eventually, Paul finds himself out of breath, and their plates empty, so Till rises with a scrape of his chair and announces, “Gather your dishes and we’ll clean up, little one.”

Paul beams up at him and nods enthusiastically. He always responded well to that pet name. He quickly places his utensils and empty cup on his plate before scrambling to get up and hurry into the kitchen.

Although, a bit clumsily, he hadn’t pulled his chair out far enough and trips up on the leg of the table—Till cringes when he sees Paul abruptly pivot forward, sending his dishes flying with an amazing crash against the wall and the hardwood floor of Till’s dining room. He catches himself on his elbows with a great thud and an unintentional curse spewing from his mouth.

For a moment, everything is quiet save for the rattling of his plate settling on the floor. Then Paul bursts out laughing. Till presses his lips together, stifling his own smile. He calmly sets his own dishes back on the table and kneels beside Paul. Paul’s initial laughter dies. Replacing it is very audible sniffling. Till reaches out to gently curl his large hands under his armpits and help him up. Paul lets him. He slowly sits up, and then looks at Till. Till is surprised to see tears beading in his eyes. He didn’t expect that, even though he should have. Paul is normally more emotional in this state of mind. He’s probably just embarrassed, more than anything else.

“It’s okay, Paul,” Till says placatingly, cupping his flushed cheeks, “Are you alright?”

Paul nods a little, sniffling, and then reaches up to rub his fists into his eyes, grinding away the building tears. On his knees, he shifts closer to Till and Till naturally draws him into an embrace. Paul clings to him and hugs him tightly.

“Let’s get it cleaned up and then we can do whatever you want,” Till murmurs, before he kisses him on the side of the head. Paul nods into his shoulder. Till gently lets him go, and then takes Paul’s hand before he begins to stand. Paul follows suit.

While Till retrieves the broom and dustpan, Paul gathers up his thrown dishes—none broken, thankfully. He deposits them gently into the sink while Till begins to sweep. Paul joins him, grabs the dustpan, and crouches down, sitting back on his calves, holding it in place while he watches Till sweep. He’s quiet and a little forlorn while Till directs the spilled remnants of Paul’s dinner into the dustpan, with Paul’s assistance.

Once it’s dealt with, and the broom and dustpan are put away, Till takes Paul’s smaller hand in his and guides him into the living room. Till takes a seat on the couch, and pats the space beside him. Surprising him, though, Paul instead crawls onto his lap and sits on his thighs, facing him. He threads his fingers together behind Till’s neck and looks at him with a pout. Heat rises to Till’s face. Paul should know what sitting on his lap does to him.

“Sorry, daddy,” Paul murmurs, biting his lip. Till shakes his head. He reaches out to idly fix Paul’s hoodie, righting the drawstrings. He speaks roughly, saying with a slight smile, “Accidents happen. Just be more careful next time.”

Paul nods. He then leans in to rest his cheek against his shoulder, bringing his arms down to curl them around Till as much as he can, hands tucked behind his back. Till wets his lips with a flick of his tongue. He carefully draws his arms around him and holds him close to his front. Paul is practically sitting on his dick at this point. He’s very warm, and very soft in his arms. Till stares up at the ceiling and thinks very deeply about the one time he witnessed a goat giving birth.

“What do you want to do now, Paulchen?” he asks lowly, voice a little thick. Paul hums sleepily into his shoulder and speaks quietly, softly, “I like this. I like it when you hold me.”

“But we can’t do this all night,” Till murmurs, stroking his hand up and down over his back through the hoodie. Paul hums again.

“No… I guess not. What do _you_ wanna do, daddy?” he replies, pulling back to look at him with searching eyes and a cute smile on his equally cute lips. Till stares at them and thinks about it. He really thinks about it. All he produces is various positions he can put a very naked, very aroused Paul in. He thinks about kissing him. He thinks about grabbing his ass and grinding up into him, letting him feel how hard he makes him. He thinks about many, many things.

God, he’s way too horny right now. They haven’t fucked yet, since Paul stopped by for the weekend. Till is frustrated with himself for letting it cloud his mind. He needs to be better for Paul.

“I… I want to make you happy,” Till answers, meeting his curious, wondrous gray eyes, “So I’ll do whatever you’d like to do.”

He’s sure Paul can feel his erection through his jeans. Till doesn’t want him to. So, with firm hands around his hips, he turns their bodies to deposit Paul onto the couch. Paul pouts up at him, obviously displeased with this outcome, but then Till pushes up his hoodie, leans in, and blows a raspberry on his cute belly. Paul flails and cracks a laugh. He clutches at Till’s gelled mohawk and watches with a beaming smile as Till kisses over his stomach.

“I dunno!” Paul bellows with laughter in his voice, legs fidgeting under Till, “You seem to wanna kiss my tummy, though!”

“I do,” Till admits, flashing a grin up towards him. Paul giggles and continues holding his mohawk with tight fingers—too tight, actually. Till knows only a child would be careless when it comes to their strength in a grip. Paul is so thorough with every detail of this roleplay. Till is impressed. It’s been a while since they began and even now, Till manages to be surprised. He leans back in to blow another obnoxious, loud raspberry that has Paul screaming with laughter.

 

Eventually, they decide to stargaze. Till drags out blankets and pillows and chairs per Paul’s request to make a mini fort. They build it together, Paul chatting away happily, until they get settled within it, surrounded by pillows and blankets. Till left a gap big enough to watch the stars through. Paul snuggles up to his side, Till drawing two quilts over them for the sake of warmth. They lay together for an hour, watching the stars and idly talking about everything and nothing. Paul is holding his hand, their fingers linked, while he points up at the stars with the other.

Till is truly and utterly content. He hopes Paul is, too.

 

* * *

 

The song of the birds awakens him. Heard through his open window above his bed, Till stirs. He blearily opens his eyes to see a painting of sunlight spilling across the ceiling, and upon sluggishly rising up on an elbow, he finds the rays extend to the carpet as well.

He rubs at his face. He checks the clock.

Seven forty in the morning. His favorite hour of the day. He prefers getting up even earlier, but putting Paul to bed last night turned out to be a feat. He grunts as he gets up from bed. Wearing only his boxers, Till pulls on some sweatpants and then pads out into the hallway, leaving behind the singing of the birds.

In the hallway, it’s dimly lit by sunlight. Till has a plethora of windows throughout his home. Sunlight can be found anywhere. He likes it that way.

Pacing through the hallway, Till stops at Paul’s bedroom door and places a hand on the door frame. He leans in, straining his hearing. He doesn’t hear anything through the door. He’s sleeping, then. Whenever Paul manages to wake up before him, he usually finds him coloring or reading in his bed. Reaching down, Till quietly grips the door handle and twists it. The hinges of the door creak quietly as he pushes it open.

Peeking into the room, he sees mostly darkness. The drapes of the windows in his bedroom are closed, blocking out the sunlight. It’s lit just dimly enough for Till to see the cluttering mess of stuffed animals and various toys on the carpeted floor. In addition to his toys, his books and coloring books are laying in a disorganized pile on the floor by his nightstand. Till huffs. He needs to tell him to tidy his room.

Glancing towards the bed, he sees the telltale lump of Paul bundled up under his [navy blue, space-patterned duvet](https://66.media.tumblr.com/9850a496537b74266f7b7bb41c231ac9/tumblr_ppvvtlmLx61rvajymo1_640.jpg). He’s surrounded by his stuffed animals. Till smiles. He can see that tuft of red hair sticking out, contrasting sharply with the dark tone of his blankets. What an adorable sight.

Till is careful to be quiet as he enters the bedroom, stepping over toys along the way to the window. Once he reaches it, he carefully pulls open one of the drapes, spilling sunlight into the room. Paul doesn’t stir.

Approaching the bed, Till takes a slow, quiet seat on the edge and clears his throat.

“Good morning, Paul,” he says softly. That has Paul stirring with a grumble. Till reaches out to gently peel back the blankets, enough to reveal his scrunched up face. He laughs quietly and murmurs, “Rise and shine, sleepyhead.”

Paul whines and turns over onto his side, facing the wall, and buries into his mountain of stuffed animals. Till smiles faintly. He reaches out to draw back the covers, revealing his curled up body, and his broad back. Reaching out, he caresses his back with sweeping strokes of his wide hand through his star-patterned pyjamas. Paul shudders. Till begins to lightly scratch at him there, watching him fondly. Paul goes limp, relaxed. Till continues gently raking his nails over his back, across his shoulder blades, down to the small of his back. And then, he begins gingerly tickling over his side. It gains him the reaction he hoped for: Paul’s body arches and he whines loudly, before rolling onto his back and splaying out across the bed, kicking back the covers. He looks up at Till with a pout, hair wild.

Till smiles, eyes warm and fond. Paul blinks sluggishly and then brings his hands up to grind the heels of them into his eyes, sleepily mumbling, “Daddy, it’s too early…”

“Nuh uh,” Till remarks teasingly, “It’s almost eight, baby.”

He doesn’t even realize how deeply he’s descended into his role. He just loves seeing Paul like this. Warm, comfortable. Well-rested.

Paul drops his hands atop the crumpled covers and looks at Till with eyes that are much more awake. He huffs and mumbles, “I wanna sleep more.”

Till reaches out to pat his exposed belly, before gently pulling his haphazard pyjama top down, covering his stomach again.

“I don’t think so. We need to start our day. And you were stubborn going to bed last night. I don’t think it’s fair for me to let you sleep in longer.”

“But I wasn’t even tired!” Paul whines with a pout, slapping his hand petulantly against the duvet, “That’s why!”

His little eyebrows are furrowed, pink lips in a displeased frown. Till’s smile falters. He nods, reaches down to take Paul’s hand firmly in his own.

“The earlier you go to bed, the earlier you become tired. Fighting it only lengthens it.”

Paul huffs, giving him attitude with a roll of his eyes. Till frowns.

“Come on, now. Let’s not start the day this way. How about this: if you get up and shower, eat a breakfast with many vegetables, we can go out to the park today. The bigger one with the lake, not our own. We can get ice cream, and then I’ll spoil you rotten at some toy shops. After all, we have to add to your collection, don’t we?”

Paul seems much more pleased with this. He beams at Till, sits up, and then eagerly scrambles out of bed, crawling over Till’s legs along the way. Till laughs deeply, watching him dart out of his bedroom, kicking toys all over the place as he rushes for the bathroom. He supposes he can tell him to clean up his room after they come back home.

 

The same night, upon returning from an eventful day at the lake and at the mall, Paul breaks the illusion by pulling a surprised Till into the shower with him, still fully clothed. Paul is naked while Till is gradually becoming soaked, water flattening his black shirt and jeans to his body. Paul knows he already removed his wallet and keys. Till stares, watching with wide eyes and a slightly agape mouth as Paul begins ripping open his jeans with nimble hands, his gray eyes trained up on him like a vicious cat tracking a trapped mouse.

Till doesn’t say anything, nor does Paul. He shoves down his pants and boxers, exposing his rapidly stiffening cock. Till lifts his arms for him to pull his shirt off, revealing his muscular torso and the dark hair clinging to his belly and pecs with shower water. Paul pushes him against the wall. He presses up against him. Soft, hairless skin flush to Till’s opposite; hairy, scarred, and rough. Till moans, guttural. Paul’s erection is rubbing up against his hip.

“Touch me,” Paul demands, his slender hands stroking hungrily up over Till’s abs and sides. Till is more than happy to oblige. He grabs his ass, tugs him impossibly closer, and then angles his head to take Paul’s perfect lips in a crushing kiss.

 

They eventually find their way to Till’s bed. The sheets become utterly soaked. Paul ends up pinned to the mattress under the encompassing weight of his partner. Paul clutches him so tightly in his arms, _Till_ manages to obtain bruised flesh. They end up eating each other alive; their lips seldom separate, flesh locked together as if they were a single man and not two.

 

* * *

 

It’s been six months since this began. Till is more or less completely comfortable with his role, and with his responsibilities as Paul’s… _Daddy._ He is still taken off-guard from time to time, but he has been desensitized to the strangeness of it. He has been exposed to the comfort of it. The love threaded into it. The result of it.

Paul is happier.

Paul is more rested.

Paul is more creative.

Paul is more engaging.

Paul is lacking the mask that he typically builds and builds until he can’t see through it, until others begin to lose sight of the face beyond it. Every layer is gone.

Paul is Paul, and Till is enjoying every second of it, knowing that it is more or less because of _him,_ because of their relationship. He only wishes Paul had mentioned it sooner, but even then, he cannot dwell on that. Because Paul brought it to him in the end, which he is thankful for.

There are times of dry spells, when they cannot find time together, alone, with no family matters to tend to, both of blood and of the band. Paul comes to him more exhausted, and weighed down, and with endless layers of shrouds that Till has to strip from him. Paul is as considerate of Till as Till is of him. He knows what Till needs, what Till wants. He gives him the endless, unconditional, filthy love that Till needs, whether he’s aware of that need or not. He gives him the never-ending outlet of sex, until Till is as utterly bare as Paul is.

Till doubts he has ever had a relationship so rewarding in his entire life.

 

* * *

 

On one afternoon, they sit outside at the patio table in Till’s backyard. Paul has his bare feet propped up on the banister of the patio, ankles crossed, sitting hunched in one of the chairs, cradling a beer against his belly with a smile on his face. Till is seated as well, knees placed far apart with one arm draped atop the armrest of his chair, his other wrist placed upon the table, lit cigarette poised over the ashtray. He flicks off the ashes, brings the cigarette to his lips.

The sun is warming them, lighting up the sky and the green of the Earth. Till is staring at his flowers. He wonders if, at this point, his garden is more impressive than Schneider’s. He never really could out-garden that man. He actually hasn’t seen pictures of his backyard in a while. He’ll have to email him about it. _Maybe_ it’s a bit like dick measuring.

“And next weekend, she wants to take Emil to her parents. She wants me to go. I don’t blame her. I’ve made excuses the last three times.”

Paul speaking regains Till’s attention. He flicks his gaze over to Paul, sees him taking a drink from his beer.

“That’s fine,” Till says, readjusting in his seat, “I wanted to go hunting with Sergey, anyways.”

“Oh, yeah? How is he at hunting? I imagine he isn’t very stealthy.”

With a laugh, Paul’s eyes meet his. The rays of sun hit against his irises so perfectly, Till can truly see the undeniable gray in them. His eyes are beautiful. Till stares, recalls he asked a question, and then clears his throat to say, “He’s about as stealthy as a bull in a chinaware shop. But when he focuses, he can be like a lynx.”

“A very fat lynx,” Paul giggles. Till snorts. He nods. Paul continues with a gesture towards Till, eyes bright and lips broadening into a grin, “Then you must be the bear! You’re at home in the woods, you’re big and hairy, and you’re soft and cuddly!”

That has Till cracking a more genuine laugh.

“Bears are cuddly? Are we thinking of the same creature?”

“Well, I suppose you’re more like a teddy bear, then.”

“Oh, come on, Paul. I see myself more like a warthog. Or perhaps an ox.”

“Warthog? No. They are ugly. You are not ugly. An ox? Yeah, I can see that. They are also cuddly and cute. And hairy. And big. And strong.”

Till laughs, shaking his head with a grin on his face, accentuating his laugh lines. Paul smiles, looking at him with adoration. Till leans in to put his cigarette out in the ashtray, his laughter quieting. He reaches out to teasingly ruffle Paul’s hair. Paul chuckles and bears it. Settling back into his seat, Till watches the other man warmly.

“I can picture you as a hyena.”

Arching a brow, Paul smiles at him and reaches out to set his beer on the table, threading his fingers together atop his belly, still rather slumped in his chair.

“How so?”

With his elbow propped against the armrest of his patio chair, Till brings a hand up to stroke his fingers down over his mouth and across his jawline, feeling the pricking of his developing stubble. He speaks thoughtfully, warm, green eyes searching Paul’s face.

“Misleadingly approachable. Handsome and somewhat _cute_ on the outside, but devastating and vicious beyond the exterior. Vocal. Very vocal. Domineering and demanding.”

Paul laughs.

“Here I was being so nice about it, and you don’t pull your punches. Ouch. But that doesn’t negate the fact you’re very right.”

Till huffs a laugh and looks at him with amusement twinkling in his eyes.

“I thought you would be more offended by me calling you cute.”

“That _is_ what I’m talking about.”

Till cracking a boisterous laugh has Paul laughing with him. Till grins, rises from his chair with a creak, and as he passes Paul to reach the sliding door leading into the kitchen, he leans in to kiss him on the head.

“I’m going to grab a beer.”

“Can you get me the divorce papers on your way back out? I’ve decided I’ll finally sign them after what you said.”

“We’re not even married!” Till bursts out past a laugh with an appalled expression, taken off-guard by that joke. Paul tilts his head back to look at him with shock, his ruby locks hanging downwards, gray eyes wide.

“We’re not?”

Till waves him off with a scoff as he absconds through the sliding door, followed by Paul’s infantile giggling.

 

* * *

 

Sesame Street is playing loudly from the TV. He can hear it from where he stands, standing before the sink. Till is in the bathroom. He’s shaving this late at night simply because a certain somebody had kept him busy from sunrise to sunset and prevented him from taking care of it this morning. But now, Paul is preoccupied with his show, blissfully distracted so Till has a moment to himself.

Today, he has been exceedingly clingy and demanding. Clutched to Till’s hip, pleading for attention, for his affection, for a source of fun. Till can’t recall a time Paul was so exhausting.

After quickly, yet efficiently, shaving off the developing stubble from his jaw and cheeks, he’s left with the reflection of a barer Till. He rubs his broad hand across his sharp cheekbones, his steely jaw. But, as always, he is unimpressed with his appearance. He rinses his razor, sets it down, and then washes away the remnants of shaving cream and hair from the bowl of the sink. After wiping off his face and hands, he fits the hand towel back onto its hook and then leaves the bathroom.

Reentering the living room, muscular arms crossed, Till sees Paul curled up on the couch, laying against the armrest, knees to his chest. He has his thumb in his mouth. His gaze darts over to land on him. He grins around his thumb. Cute. Till manages the slightest smile, but it fades rapidly. He approaches to take a seat beside him.

“It’s late,” Till says lowly as he gets settled beside him. He anticipates it when Paul cuddles up against his side; he draws his arm around him. Paul hums and rests his head against his shoulder, thumb still in his mouth. Till begins to pet at his wild ruby locks.

“It’s almost time for bed, I think,” Till continues in a murmur, staring at the TV without quite watching. He peeks down at him. Paul’s little eyebrows are furrowed. He doesn’t look pleased.

“M’not tired,” Paul mumbles around his thumb. Till sighs. Not this again. Till swallows hard. He’s not as confident when it comes to dealing with a troublesome Paul. They’ve talked about it before, many times. Paul likes toying with him. He likes practicing petulance if only to fit more in the role. He likes seeing Till flustered. The little shit.

But, of course, Paul is also considerate. He’s always drilled it into his head that he can back out, whenever, for whatever reason.

Till just doesn’t want to do the wrong thing.

“Well, little one,” Till begins softly, squeezing his arm around him, watching him through lidded eyes, “I think we’ve watched TV long enough. Let’s take a break and see how you feel then.”

Paul’s big, round eyes raise from the TV towards Till. He takes his thumb from his mouth with a pop and pouts.

“But I wanna keep watching!” he huffs, dropping his hand into his lap, thumb glistening with his saliva. That hand curls into a defensive fist. Till frowns.

“I’m sure you do. Instead, I can read you a story. Does that sound like a good alternative? I’ll tuck you in, read you a story, and I’ll even rub your feet, if you’d like.”

“No!” Paul snaps, “I don’t want to go to bed!”

He huffs and crosses his arms.

Till says nothing. He turns to the coffee table, leans in to grab the TV remote from its surface, and then sits back before he turns off the TV with a click of the screen. Paul whines and reaches for the remote. Till clicks his tongue and raises the remote high.

“That’s not fair!” Paul cries, punching Till on the thigh with a fist, “I’m not tired! I want to keep watching!”

Snatching Paul’s wrist, Till pins his arm to his chest and looks deeply into his frustrated gray eyes as he says lowly, with force, “Don’t you hit me, Paul. You know better.”

Paul shrinks a bit at that. He sticks his bottom lip out and nods a little, looking down at his legs ruefully.

“Sorry, daddy. I just… I hate going to bed early! I want to stay up with you!”

He looks up at Till with pleading, hopeful eyes. Till softens. He’s so cute. And he fucking knows it. It’s deceiving. And manipulative.

“No, baby,” he murmurs, releasing his wrist to instead cup his cheek, “It’s not good for you to stay up late. It’ll be nice to lay down and close your eyes. And I know you love it when daddy reads you stories. So, let’s just go to bed. I’ll even cuddle with you if you want.”

Paul huffs. He turns his head away, removing himself from Till’s caress. Till drops his hand, frowning. Paul petulantly crosses his arms and slumps over, back curled, until his forehead meets his knees. He shakes his head.

“Paul…” Till begins with exasperation, raising a hand in frustration. Paul whines sharply and doesn’t move. Till gets up from the couch. He leans over, moving to slide his arms under Paul’s knees and over his back, as if to pick him up. Paul doesn’t like that. He shoves up from the couch, snapping childishly, “No! It’s unfair! Why do I always have to do what you want?!”

He grabs his stuffed animal from the couch and clutches it to his chest as he moves around the couch, peering at Till past his shoulder with a knit brow. Till watches him, jaw set and eyes hard, remaining seated on the couch, unsure what, exactly, Paul plans to do. What can he do? He’s just avoiding the inevitable.

Paul, in a stroke of genius rebellion, drops down into a crouched position behind the couch and makes himself as small as possible—hiding from Till. Till arches a brow. Placing his hands on the backrest of the couch, he rises up to look over the back of it. He sees Paul curled up, burying his face in his stuffed rabbit. His slender hands are clutching at it. Till can’t help but smile a little at that. He’s adorable, even when he’s being a brat.

Rising from the couch, Till rounds it and joins him. He kneels beside him, and in return Paul just tightens up, continuing to hide his face.

“Come on, Paul, this is ridiculous,” he says softly, an attempt to console him, reaching out to stroke gingerly at a few red locks which stick out from the others. Paul whines into his bunny. Till expects Paul to give in and relent. Instead, Paul shoots up onto his feet, abruptly, and shoves past him to run for the sliding door which leads out into the patio. Till immediately rises and strides after him. He supposes Paul is waiting for more force.

Paul manages to get it unlocked and pulls it open to rush out into the darkness. The automatic lights switch on. Till charges after him through the open sliding door, to see Paul stumbling down the stairs to run into the grass, laughing nervously with his stuffed animal clutched in his hand. He spins on a heel to see Till standing on the patio.

“Nice try, daddy!” Paul calls, grinning now, “You can’t make me!”

In the soft illumination provided by the automatic light, Paul almost blends into the darkness with the black hoodie and pyjama pants he’s wearing. His blue bunny and his red hair stand out the most. Till stomps down the three stairs which lead down onto the grass. Paul looks like he’s ready to run. Till doesn’t run; he simply strides after him. Paul backs up, a grin on his face, his eyes wide. Only when Till is close does he dart around him and make a run for the door. Till realizes then that he’s going to try and lock him out. Fucking brat.

Till whips around to grab him by the back of the hoodie. Paul grunts when he’s abruptly stopped, jerked violently from the opposing force. He then whips around, knocking his arm into Till’s wrist, which breaks his grip. He sticks his tongue out at Till before he sprints for the door, which earns a dry laugh from the older man. Paul’s feet thud against the steps and the wood of the patio as he rushes for the door. Till is right behind him; he manages to snatch the handle of the sliding glass door just as Paul almost latches it shut. He shoves it open with a rattling slam, startling Paul, who stumbles back and loses his footing.

Slipping, he lands on his ass atop the hardwood flooring of the dining area, losing his grip on his stuffed bunny which ends up thrown elsewhere. He looks up at Till, wide-eyed, just as Till steps in, slams the door shut behind himself.

“Enough of this,” Till says firmly, stepping towards him, “Do you want me to punish you? Is that what you want?”

Paul flips around and scrambles away—Till rushes after him. Paul laughs and squeals in both fear and amusement as he darts around the couch, using it as a buffer between himself and Till. They’re caught in a standoff. Till on one side, arms poised, in a stance to throw himself after Paul if need be, with Paul on the other, his hands placed upon the armrest of the couch, a grin on his boyish face.

“You won’t get me, daddy,” Paul mocks, “You’re too big and slow!”

He sticks his tongue out at him. Till can’t help it at that; his repressed grin breaks through.

“Let’s test that!” he bellows, and then throws himself over the couch in an abrupt, fierce movement that jostles the couch and rattles the coffee table when the couch knocks into it. Paul screams and darts towards the hallway, but Till manages to grab onto his hips—and then loses his footing.

They both crash to the carpet, with Till barely catching himself on a knee as to avoid crushing the smaller man. Paul squeals like a trapped animal and tries wiggling out from underneath him. Till grabs him by the arms and plants a foot on the floor to hoist him up. Paul tries struggling out of the hold by twisting his body, but Till puts a stop to that by wrapping his arms around him. Paul is laughing by then, jerking his torso in an attempt to escape, but Till refuses. His overall body mass and muscle easily overpowers the other man.

“I win,” Till proclaims breathlessly, earning a piercing whine of protest from Paul. In a swift movement, Till leans over to sweep Paul off his feet with one arm going under his knees, the other kept locked around his back. Paul shrieks, taken off-guard by the suddenness of it. Paul clings to him, wide-eyed, and then he’s grinning again. Till begins to march him straight towards his bedroom.

“You cheated!” Paul huffs, knocking his fist into Till’s chest without force.

“There are no rules when dealing with a bratty Paul,” Till remarks. Paul crosses his arms petulantly, scowling as effectively as he can at Till. Till just smiles. Paul is adorable. His little eyebrows make it a bit difficult to produce a convincing glare.

In his bedroom, Till steps over toys and stuffed animals, carrying a stubbornly displeased Paul over to his bed. His dark navy blue, spaceship/planet patterned duvet is crumpled up, his matching pillows resting in disarray.

“And here I thought I told you to make your bed earlier this morning,” Till huffs. Paul shrinks a bit and looks away, pouting. Till deposits Paul on the bed, rolls him over—Paul’s hands reflexively shoot out to plant against the bed—and then retracts his arm, cocking it back, to swing his hand forward and spank him _hard_ across the ass. The cracking sound of the strike fills the room. Three times, he whips his hand nearly full force against his backside through his pyjama pants, which has Paul’s body arching, his legs kicking up, a loud gasp of pain and shock ripping from his throat.

“You should know better than to act like that with me,” Till says sternly, “Maybe next time you’ll reconsider.”

Paul ducks his head, face pressed into his plush blankets, and nods a little. His body is curling up now, his legs shaking and toes clenched. Till had spanked him so hard, even his own hand throbs from the force. Ignoring it, he reaches out to grab his sides and turn him over. Paul looks up at him with wide eyes and an agape mouth, his red hair wild, cheeks flushed a deep rogue. He looks incredibly flustered. Till is momentarily worried, frozen in his task of pulling the covers over him, wondering if he went too far. But then Paul relaxes. He puts on a pouting expression and slowly, regretfully eases the blankets higher up to his chest.

“S-Sorry, daddy,” Paul whispers. Till nods. He reaches out to stroke at his hair.

“I’ll read you a story. Make some room for me.”

Shyly, Paul nods. He doesn’t say anything as he scoots over, now partially submerged in his sea of stuffed animals. He clutches a larger one to his chest and hides his face in it. He peeks out, watching as Till shifts through the storybooks by Paul’s bed. He glances up towards Paul and arches a brow.

“Any preference?”

Paul shakes his head a little. He watches silently as Till grabs one and then moves up onto the bed. Paul holds up the covers for him. Till gets underneath them and sighs as he settles back into the mound of pillows. He just realizes how tired he is—laying in a bed so comfortable is making him melt a bit.

But, regardless, he blinks away his sudden exhaustion and opens up the book. He clears his throat.

For the first four pages, Till reads calmly and in a lowered voice. Only as he’s nearing the fifth page does he take notice of Paul’s silence and stiff posture. He glances over at him to see him curled up in a ball, clutching that large bear to himself with his eyes narrowed and brow furrowed. Till is used to him cuddling up to his side, even if they had just practiced one of their typical play-fights. Paul’s guarded eyes flick up to meet his.

“Is something wrong?” Till asks, searching his boyish face, “Would you rather I read from another book?”

Paul blinks, ridding the frustration from his eyes, and then shakes his head. He squeezes the stuffed bear in his arms and lets out a deep breath.

“No. This is fine, daddy. Nothing’s wrong, I swear.”

He wiggles a little closer to Till and rests his cheek on his shoulder. Till feels his knees press to his hip. That’s better. Till smiles faintly, enjoying the warmth of him against his side. Paul’s hand finds his bicep, his fingers curling tightly around it. Till turns his head to kiss him lovingly on the crown of the head. Paul hums happily and nuzzles closer. Now confident that Paul is fine, Till refocuses on the book and continues reading, his deep, smooth voice filling the room with the words of the story.

Only when Till finishes the tale, the concluding sentence spoken with finality, does he glance at Paul again. Paul is staring distantly at the book, without quite seeing. Paul realizes it’s over and Till is staring at him. He blinks and looks up at him. Till arches a brow. Paul smiles. It doesn’t meet his eyes.

“Thank you, daddy,” he says warmly, and then nuzzles into his shoulder again, “I love that story.”

“What was it about?” Till asks, quietly. Paul pauses. He’s silent for a second. It’s long enough for Till to deem it telltale enough.

“What’s the matter?” Till prods gently, closing the book and setting it aside. Paul ducks his head. Till is becoming concerned. He turns onto his side to face Paul, reaches out to stroke at the side of his head with a consoling touch, palm cupping him, fingers in his ruby locks. Till leans in to kiss his forehead.

“You can talk to me. What’s wrong?”

“It’s okay,” Paul whispers, continuing to hide his face in his stuffed bear, “It’s okay, daddy. It’s nothing, really. I’m fine.”

“No, something’s not okay. What is it, Paul?”

Lifting his head, Paul looks at him with vulnerable eyes and a pursed frown, his cheeks ruddy. He shrugs and looks away. Obviously uncomfortable.

“Nothing.”

Till huffs. He leans in and kisses his cheek, his brow, his nose, his temple, and his cheek again, until Paul giggles and draws his arm around Till, hugging him happily. Till smooches at his forehead and then the top of his head, holding him close. He lets out a deep breath and squeezes the smaller man in his embrace.

“I know it’s not nothing,” Till murmurs, “But I won’t force you to tell me, baby. Just know that I want to help, in whatever way I can. You know I would do anything for you, right?”

Paul is silent in his arms. He lets out a slight noise and buries his face in Till’s chest, lost in the fabric of his shirt.

“I’m sorry, daddy,” Paul whispers, muffled, “I’m embarrassed. I’m—I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Till strokes at the back of his head, brow furrowing, lips in a concerned frown.

“What is it?” he whispers softly, attempting to coax it out of him gently. Paul begins to pull away, slowly. Till lets him. He withdraws to look at his boyish face. Shame is evident in his expression. He looks confused. Paul bites his lip. Till is nervous. He’s not sure if this is serious or not. Paul doesn’t meet his eyes. Till is silent, waiting patiently.

Paul draws back the plush, space-patterned covers. He angles his hips so his lower half rests flatly against the bed. Till glances downwards, confused, but then he realizes what the issue is. Paul curls his arm over his face and lets out a rushed exhale.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, “Please don’t be mad at me.”

Once he overcomes his initial shock, Till softens at that. Paul sounds so guilty. He tears his gaze away from the ‘problem’ to refocus on Paul. He reaches out to gently pull his arm from his face. Paul is red from blushing so hard. He meekly meets Till’s gaze. Till offers him a reassuring attempt of a smile. He takes his hand in his own and strokes his thumb across the back of it.

“I’m not mad. I have no reason to be,” Till murmurs. Heat is rising to his own face. This is new. This is unexplored territory. What is he supposed to do? They haven’t really discussed this before. What does Paul want him to do?

“It’s just a normal bodily function,” Till continues, thickly. He can’t resist the temptation to look down again. He stares at the obvious tent in Paul’s pyjama pants. He can see the vague outline of his erection straining against the fabric. And the way he’s laying… His slender legs are curled and look rather enticing, with his thighs pressed together like that. Till lets out a breath and tries to shove away the dirty thoughts in his mind. The excitement that is painfully boiling in his belly, even though he doesn’t want it to. He doesn’t like how his body is responding to this. He’s getting stiff in his jeans, seeing how _Paul_ is hard.

“What is it?” Paul asks softly, rubbing his thighs together, one hand clutching tightly at his bear, the other holding Till’s hand, his expression dreadfully concerned. Till swallows hard, jaw clenching. He can do this. He can get a grip on himself. He meets Paul’s worried gaze.

“You… Uh. It can happen randomly. Without reason,” he begins hesitantly, brow furrowing as he attempts to work through the jumbled words in his mind to produce an appropriate answer. He really did not anticipate Paul acting ignorant about this. He supposes he should’ve known. Till has to roll with it.

“It’s apart of your body’s process of maturing. Puberty.”

This is… Strange. Till’s face is becoming hot. He nervously wets his lips with a drift of his tongue. Paul is watching him with more wonder in his eyes. He continues clutching at Till’s hand. Till shoves away the thoughts which cloud his mind. He stares into Paul’s beautiful eyes, glances over his pink cheeks, his kissable lips. Till wants him. He wants to get on top of him and take him, and he hates himself for it.

“It’s normal. Every boy gets it. Your body responds to certain things in this way. It can also be unprovoked.”

Paul blinks and looks intrigued.

“Does this happen to you too, daddy?” he asks softly, searching in Till’s eyes with less guilt, less shame. Till’s jaw clenches. _Yeah, right fucking now, Paul_. He nods.

“Yes.”

“What… What do I do about it?” Paul whispers, biting his lip and looking down at himself. Till’s gaze flicks down to stare again. He’s still completely hard. Till wonders what evoked this from him. He wonders if Paul is in the mood. He’s confused about a lot of this right now, actually. He’s not sure what their boundaries are. What Paul wants. He refocuses on the question and takes in a breath. He meets Paul’s concerned gaze and speaks gruffly.

“You can either ignore it or, uh…”

Shit. He hasn’t had to explain this before. Yeah, he has daughters, but he’s never had to talk to them about this sort of thing. About masturbation. Red-faced, Till just spits it out.

“You can ignore it or take care of it. Your body is, uh… Preparing for a certain kind of stimulation. So, in a _private setting,_ it’s normal for you to… Touch it.”

Paul furrows his brow. He looks confused.

“Touch it? What do you mean?”

Till presses his lips together. Paul is not making this easy on him. Searching in his eyes, Till can see the very subtle amusement in them. Fucking brat. Till’s hand is getting sweaty gripping Paul’s, not just from conjoined heat, but from his nerves. Paul must know this.

“Well. With your hands,” Till mutters, helplessly. He wants to facepalm upon seeing Paul’s expression. His lips are pressed together, the apples of his cheeks accentuated. He’s holding back laughter. Till wants to just leave. He narrows his eyes at Paul. Paul puts on the mask of innocent confusion.

“How?”

Till lets out a deep breath. He searches for words to respond, but then Paul gives him an out. He speaks softly, asking, “Can you show me?”

Freezing, Till is momentarily stunned. Surprise is in his eyes as he searches in Paul’s. Looking for any hidden meaning in the gray of them, for any reluctance, for any uncertainty. Does he really want this?

“Are you sure?” Till asks quietly, firmly, readjusting his hold on Paul’s hand, squeezing his fingers. Paul licks his lips and nods a little. Till’s heart is racing. A smoldering, cracking fire of arousal is in the pit of Till’s belly. He’s totally hard in his jeans. The anticipation is boiling up again. Consent. Paul is consenting. It should be fine then, right? Till lets out a breath.

“How do you want me to show you?” he asks gently, just to be certain of what he wants, exactly. Paul bites his lip. He lets his legs fall open, takes his hand from Till’s. Till watches, eyes wide and jaw clenched, as Paul reaches down to slowly curl his fingers around his stiff cock through his pyjamas. He lets out a soft noise. That punches Till right in the dick. He takes in a deep breath though his nose, his hands flexing with the desire to touch him. Paul sinks back into the navy blue pillows and peeks over at Till with rosy cheeks and vulnerable eyes.

“I’m… I’m not sure what to do. How do I touch it?”

Till searches in his yearning gaze, his own face hot and mouth dry. He swallows hard, waiting for any protest, any hesitance that does not come.

“I’ll show you,” he whispers. Paul nods, removes his hand. Till, staring at the protruding bulge made by his erection, reaches out to slowly place his hand atop it. He sees Paul’s toes clench. Paul is lax atop the bed, watching through lidded eyes. When Till curls his big fingers around his clothed shaft and squeezes, his thighs clench and his hands clutch at the covers. He makes another weak noise. Till takes in a breath and speaks softly, gaze flicking over to watch Paul’s flushed face.

“Your penis is a sensitive place. And right now, it is… Aroused. Expecting sexual stimulation. Like I said before, you can take care of it privately. Either, um, in bed. Or in the shower. But make sure no one else is around.”

Paul’s hooded eyes become more alert and flick up to meet Till’s.

“Not even you, daddy?”

Till wets his lips with a drift of his tongue and averts his gaze to watch himself touch Paul, albeit lightly for now.

“That’s up to you,” he says quietly. “It’s about you being comfortable.”

Paul nods a little and also drops his gaze to watch Till’s hand. Till’s stomach flips as he begins rubbing his palm up and down over his shaft, feeling the stiffness of his arousal through the thin fabric. It doesn’t seem like he’s wearing underwear.

“Just start light,” Till murmurs, voice thick. His own erection is throbbing, kept trapped under his jeans. His fingers roam downwards to cup around his balls, squeezing and rubbing gently. Paul is gasping and sucking in little breaths. His hands are twisting and fidgeting in the blankets, fingers raking over them nervously. Till is so horny, he can barely think to speak.

“And work your way up to something more… Intense.”

He speaks in a low rumble, voice made deeper by his own aroused state. He watches Paul’s face weaken and tense up all the same as he continues fondling him through his pyjamas. Letting the length and weight of his palm rub over his cock, along the bulge. Paul bites at his bottom lip, his eyes closing and cheeks deepening in shade. He’s so fucking cute, Till could just eat him up. He watches him with hungry eyes as he grips his shaft, squeezing his fingers around him.

“That—” Paul begins in a gasp, eyes flying open to stare down at Till’s big hand wrapped around him, “That feels good, daddy.”

Till grunts. He’s sensing himself getting a little too eager. He has to stamp down his own excitement to focus on the pace. To focus on Paul.

“It’s supposed to,” he murmurs. He sweeps his thumb back and forth over the swell of the head through the fabric. Paul’s hips arch up and he moans, high and breathless. Till lets out a shuddering exhale. Paul is so fucking delectable right now. He stares at his pink, pleasured face, enjoying the way his cute lips fall open, his eyes rolling shut. Till clears his throat and speaks roughly, quietly.

“Then… You can touch yourself directly. Like this.”

Paul’s eyes open to watch Till slowly hook his fingers into the waistband of his pyjamas to pull them down, gradually, carefully, until his bare cock flips up against his heaving tummy, no longer confined. He silently works them down his legs, slipping them off to deposit them on the carpet by the bed. Paul catches his bottom lip between his teeth and looks up at Till with doe-like eyes. Till clenches his jaw, searching in them.

He’s playing it up. He knows just what he’s doing to him, with a look like that.

“I feel weird, daddy,” Paul whispers, rubbing his thighs together. Till flicks his gaze down to admire his flushed, straining cock. He’s dripping at the tip. He’s completely hairless. His smooth, shaven balls are trapped between his freckled thighs, just asking to be played with. Till is salivating at the mouth. He wants to do so much to him.

“What—What do you mean?” he produces thickly, before he swallows hard and meets Paul’s shameful eyes, “Do you want to stop?”

“No,” Paul whispers, biting his lip, looking down at himself. Till follows his gaze to see him running his slender hands over his sides, fingers mapping out across his pale skin, along his abs, to ultimately tease the pink head of his cock with a fingertip. He speaks again, hushed, shy.

“I’m really warm down here. I feel tingly and—and excited. I guess. I want you to touch me more.”

Till’s entire body clenches. Fuck. He takes in a deep breath.

“It’s normal. Your body is aroused. It wants me to touch it as much as you do.”

Paul giggles. He nods. He removes his hands from himself, curling them into fists by his sides, and looks up at Till with want, his eyes wide and bottom lip between his teeth. Till clears his throat and speaks again.

“It’s best to do it with some sort of wet substance. That’s why it can be easier to do it in the shower. If not that, then you can use your spit.”

Paul nods, absorbing this information. Till doesn’t meet his eyes as he lets a dollop of his own saliva drip into his palm. Paul watches closely, intrigued and interested in learning. Then Till reaches out to slowly curl his hand around the base of his cock. He angles it upwards, just enough to admire it.

He’s more sizeable than anything. He’s bordering seven inches, when fully hard. Paul fidgets a little, his thighs clenching, his fingers twisting into the covers. Till readjusts his grip on him and begins to slowly pull at his length. His fingers are a little looser, just letting him feel the whisper of a stroke. They roam upwards to rub across the frenulum of the head. Paul twists his hips a little and moans, weak and needy. Till stares, jaw clenched, eyes hard, as he begins to stroke at him continuously, albeit in a slow, gentle tempo.

Up and down, he uses the lubrication of his spit to ease his fingers across his shift. Paul gasps and whines, head craning back into the pillows. Till has awful self-control sometimes. He can’t help but tighten his grip and begin to pump his hand over his cock, the slick, wet sounds of his stroking filling the room, joined by Paul’s gasps and cries.

“Daddy!” he moans breathlessly with a grimacing, pleasured expression, legs clenching, closing, reopening, hands pulling at the covers. Silently, overcome by his arousal, Till pushes up Paul’s hoodie more, revealing his heaving chest and hard nipples.

“You can stimulate your body in other ways,” he says gruffly, and cups his hand around Paul’s flexing rib cage, bringing his thumb up to rub at his perky nipple. Paul groans and nods weakly. Till gropes firmly at his chest, squeezing the muscle and soft flesh tightly in his fingers.

Staring down at Paul’s heavily flushed cock, Till realizes he wants it in his mouth. He flicks his gaze up to Paul’s face, sees how it’s pinched with pleasure, his mouth agape. He removes his hand. Paul goes limp, panting, and looks at him with hooded eyes. He doesn’t say anything. Till continues rubbing his hand over his chest, while his other strokes over Paul’s trembling, freckled thigh.

“I feel all warm and fuzzy,” Paul mumbles, bringing a hand up to rub it weakly over his rosy face. Till nods. He slowly, gently brings his hand in-between Paul’s thighs and nudges them apart, enough for him to gently cradle his balls in his big hand.

“You can… Experiment and touch yourself here, too. But be gentle, because you’re very delicate here,” Till murmurs, voice gravelly and deep with lust. Paul hums and nods a little, bringing his hands up to rest them on his belly.

“Can you touch me some more?” he asks softly. Till lets out a breath. He wanted to ask something first.

“Yes, but I have a question for you, Paulchen.”

Paul blinks.

“What is it?”

Till licks his lips. He searches in his wondering gray eyes as he asks lowly, “Do you remember when you got uncomfortably stiff down here? Was there a reason, or was it out of nowhere?”

That has Paul biting his lip. Obviously meek. Till patiently waits. Paul begins playing idly with some of the blanket. He takes in a shuddering breath and peeks up at Till past his brow, worrying at his bottom lip.

“It was after you… You spanked my bottom, daddy,” Paul whispers, and then brings his hands up to hide his reddening face. “Suddenly, I was really big down there and it wouldn’t go away, no matter how much I tried!”

Till is momentarily stunned by that realization. Throughout the entire storytelling, Paul was hard, and he didn’t even know. Till nods a little.

“Thank you for being honest.”

Paul looks up at him with a confused, scrunched up face.

“But why would my body respond that way? Spanking is when I’m being naughty! Why would my privates like that?”

Till stares at Paul, jaw clenched and cheeks hot. This is too much. Till opens his mouth, closes his mouth, and lets out a deep exhale through his nose. He regathers his coherent train of thought and manages to produce a response. He speaks lowly, reaching out to take Paul’s hand, gently.

“Well… It could have been from the heat of the moment. Or, maybe, your body responded to the… Intimate aspect of it. How did it feel, after I spanked you?”

Paul hums thoughtfully and furrows his little eyebrows. He begins to lightly tap his fingers over the back of Till’s hand as he murmurs quietly, shyly, eyes downcast, “I-I’m not sure. I felt really warm and like… Like really hot in my tummy. My bottom really hurt for a while, too. But I didn’t mind it…”

He then looks up at Till with a pouting bottom lip, eyes hopeful.

“Now that I answered your question, can you do what you did before?”

Till’s mouth goes dry. He searches in his big, pleading eyes and clenches his jaw. He’s just terribly, terribly cute. He nods.

“Get comfortable,” Till murmurs. Paul beams. He lets go of Till’s hand, sits up a little higher against his pillows, and then bats his eyelashes at the other man with his bottom lip between his teeth—an attempt to quell his excited smile. Till lets out a breath. He shifts closer, kneeling beside Paul. He reaches out to roam a big, warm hand up over his slender, albeit muscular, thigh. Paul wiggles a little and spreads his legs, welcoming it. Till reaches in-between to gingerly cup and squeeze his balls. Paul grunts quietly and looks up at Till with needy eyes and a little smile curling at his pink lips.

Till leans in to kiss him on the forehead, nose in his ruby hair. He then grips his cock again, squeezing his large hand around it. He peeks downwards to watch, keeping his cheek against Paul’s hair. He admires the length of his freckled, muscular body from this perspective as he begins to slowly pull at his length. The pink head is flushed deeply, glistening with pre-cum. Till sweeps his thumb across the slit, feeling the slickness of it. Paul moans, turns his head to nuzzle into Till’s neck.

“Feels good,” he whispers, his hand sliding out to press his knuckles gently to Till’s belly through his shirt, “Your hand is so warm.”

Saying nothing, Till just kisses him on the head again. He watches himself touch Paul, a slow, firm stroking that has Paul’s legs clenching up, his toes curling into the dark blue duvet. He continuously twists his fists into the blankets, while he makes the quietest little noises that only heightens Till’s own lust. Slipping further down on his elbow, Till nudges Paul’s face with his own and then angles his head to begin mouthing at his strong jawline. His clouding arousal momentarily distracts him from the roleplay. He bites Paul’s earlobe between his teeth, pulls slowly, letting it slide out from between them. Paul moans, his hand raising in surprise. He rests it against Till’s belly. Till pulls back just enough to see his face. Paul’s eyes are hooded, his cute lips slightly open, his brow furrowed a little.

Till kisses him lovingly on the temple, earning a happy hum from Paul, and then murmurs into his ear, “Stay still. I’m going to make it even better.”

Paul nods obediently and watches with anticipation as Till rises with a creak of the bed. He moves to kneel between his spread legs. He hooks his hands around his thighs, tugs him closer across the bed, earning a squeak from the smaller man. Paul looks up at him with wide eyes, his ruby hair wild, hands gripping the covers. With his arms wound around his thighs, Till gently pulls them further apart and leans in. Paul is silent, breathing heavily, as Till kisses across his heaving belly and his lovely, freckled thighs. With his big hands gripping the underside of Paul’s knees, he keeps his legs pinned open.

“Daddy…” Paul whispers, earning a glance from the other man. Paul is curling his fingertips into his bottom lip, his eyes meek. Till presses a final kiss to his hip and then nuzzles into his cutely flushed cock. Closing his eyes, Till breathes him in. He smells thickly of arousal.

He briefly misses the feeling of his soft pubic hair caressing his face whenever he goes down on him like this, but a cleanly-shaven Paul is only fitting for this kind of play, so Till doesn’t complain. He kisses him intimately where thigh meets groin. He noses at the soft skin of his balls and lets his tongue roam across the silky texture of them. Paul’s legs clench up entirely.

The softest noises of pleasure are coming from him. As he kisses and noses over his most sensitive parts, Till can feel the heat radiating from him, can almost _taste_ the arousal. Paul is fidgeting more now, his belly flexing, legs clenching. He can see the way his dick throbs. Arching up a little as he clenches the muscles of his stomach, a silent plea for more. Till’s patience has run thin, as well. He lets the flat width of his tongue roam up from Paul’s smooth balls, up along the hot underside of his cock, to settle at the sensitive frenulum. Paul gasps sharply and jerks his hand down, fingers wet from his saliva, to grab Till by the sleeve of his shirt.

“Daddy!” he cries, eyes wide and pink lips agape, earning a flick of hungry green eyes. Paul’s hips begin to quiver. Till lathes his tongue across the swollen pink head, earning a more genuine, deeper moan from the other man. Till tastes his pre-cum. He then angles his head to suck it into his mouth. With his hands squeezing around Paul’s knees, keeping his legs open, Till begins to nurse tightly at the hot head of his cock, enjoying the soft texture of it on his tongue, the heat of it in his mouth. Paul’s feet kick up and his hand pulls firmly at Till’s sleeve, involuntarily. A high-pitched, shocked cry comes from him.

“That feels so good!” he gasps, “Daddy! What are you doing?”

Till doesn’t answer him. He begins to bob his head, taking half of his lengthy cock into his mouth with every motion. Paul shrieks and whines, his legs fidgeting under Till’s hands, the heels of his feet digging into Till’s forearms. The sound of Till’s firm, wet sucking fills the room, joined by Paul’s gasping and whining and moaning. Paul is fidgeting restlessly, his back arching, head craning, hips shaking, hand becoming white-knuckled around the grip on Till’s shirt.

When Till carefully, gradually sucks his cock deeper and deeper into his mouth, letting it slide into his throat, Paul’s cries lessen to quiet little grunts escaping past clenched teeth, his body trembling. Then his hips begin to give little thrusts—Till chokes. He pulls back just enough so he doesn’t gag. He lets Paul shakily pump his hips up, his flushed cock sliding back and forth in Till’s mouth. Keeping tight suction, Till glances up to look at him. Paul’s entire body is flushed, his chest blotched with red, his face in a pleasured grimace, his lip caught between his teeth, his eyebrows furrowed, eyes clenched shut.

Suddenly, Paul is jerking his hips back, eyes flying open. He looks scared and shocked.

“Daddy, wait, please—s-stop,” Paul gasps, pushing at his shoulder desperately. Till immediately draws off, sitting back. He looks at Paul with concern, sliding his hands out from under his knees to stroke them over his clenched thighs.

“What’s wrong?”

Paul, panting heavily, looks at him with confused eyes, his cheeks a dark red. He then speaks quietly, looking down at himself, hands curling in the covers, “It felt like something was going to come out. I-I thought I was going to pee. I suddenly felt really hot all over, and my tummy was full of tingles. Sorry, daddy.”

“Oh,” Till begins, and then huffs a laugh. He shakes his head and squeezes Paul’s thighs.

“No, that’s fine. That’s good. That means you’re about to come. Let it happen.”

Paul blinks and looks up at him with feigned innocence. He tilts his head and asks, “What does that mean?”

“You’ll see,” Till muses, smiling a little. He slides his hands up under Paul’s knees again, hikes his legs up, leans in again. Paul’s hand shoots out to grab onto Till’s bicep. Foremost, Till angles his head to let his tongue roam over the soft skin of his balls. Paul gasps sharply. Till grins to himself before he does it again. He curls his tongue around the entirety of them. They’re not particularly big, so it’s easy. He sucks them into his mouth, eyes closing and cheeks hollowing. Paul gasps sharply and cries with confusion, “Daddy?!”

Ignoring him, Till lets them pop from his mouth, one at a time, and then licks over the soft, smooth skin, now wet with his saliva. Paul is shaking, his legs trembling in his hands. This position makes it easier for him to access this part of him. Till takes them into his mouth again, flicks his gaze up to see the twisted expression of pleasure on Paul’s face, his eyes fluttering shut. Till sucks firmly at his balls, letting them slowly slip out from between his full lips. He nips over his thighs, earning soft gasps from the other man.

Then he drags the width of his tongue over his aching cock to suck it back into his mouth. Paul moans deeply, legs jumping under his grasp. Till begins to bob his head, a slow up and down with unrelenting, tight suction. Paul’s cock is warm and stiff in his mouth, but the pink head is soft and delicate against his tongue. Till loves having him in his mouth like this. He seems so fragile and vulnerable. It’s almost like a power rush, having his most sensitive part between his teeth like this. It turns him on, having this control over Paul.

Paul begins to dig his nails into Till’s bicep, whining and groaning. Till continues sucking his cute dick into his mouth, until Paul’s entire body clenches and he’s whining desperately. He begins to tremble uncontrollably under Till. Till feels his cock flex in his mouth.

“Daddy,” Paul gasps, his toes clenching, face pinching, his slender hand squeezing so tightly around Till’s bicep that it hurts. He continues breathlessly, crying out loudly, “Daddy, daddy—it’s-it’s happening… I can’t! Nnn!”

Till groans around him, unbelievably turned on by the feeling of his cock twitching against his tongue, just before his cum shoots out to flood his mouth. Paul’s hips lurch, his legs locked tight around his hands. It seems to last forever. Paul is shaking uncontrollably. He’s grunting under his breath, hips jerking, trembling. He lets out a breathless, gasping moan. His legs repeatedly flex and relax. Till continues gently nursing at his cock, easing out the remnants of his orgasm, sucking down whatever he has to give him, until Paul is whining from the sensitivity. Then Till slowly pulls off, letting his softening length fall from his lips. Paul goes limp against the pillows. Till licks his lips and looks up towards him. His boyish face is flushed, his mouth open, eyes closed, his hair wild. He keeps a limp hand on Till’s arm, the other resting up by his head. He looks angelic. And totally spent.

Releasing his legs, Till gently rests them on the bed and then moves to lay beside him. Paul weakly opens his eyes to look at him, dazedly. Till reaches out to cup his cheek, leaning in to kiss him lovingly in a long, firm press of his lips to his forehead. Paul hums, lethargically. He curls a weak hand around Till’s forearm.

“Good boy,” Till whispers, nuzzling into his hair, “What did you think?”

Paul lets out a deep breath and speaks sluggishly.

“It felt really good… I want to do that with you again, daddy,” he mumbles. He then turns onto his side, wiggles closer to the other man. Till brings his arms around him and squeezes him in his embrace. Paul saying such a thing has him pausing, wondering if he truly meant that. If he wanted to progress into practicing sexual things during their play times. He supposes they already did, but it’s unclear whether this will be a one-time occurrence.

A hand meekly cupping around his stiff cock and squeezing through his jeans has Till’s hips jerking. He grunts and pulls back to look down, seeing Paul’s slender hand gripping his erection. He meets Paul’s gaze, sees shyness in those doe-like eyes.

“You’re big down here, too…” he whispers, blushing, “Your privates are excited, too, huh? Can I try? Please? I want to make you feel like that, too!”

Oh, Jesus. Till clenches his jaw, belly surging with hot arousal. He wets his lips and nods, stiffly. No coherent thought remains. Paul smiles bashfully and looks down to watch himself open up Till’s jeans with a pop of the button and a descend of the zipper. It provides immediate relief. Till grunts and speaks gruffly, saying, “Hold on.”

He gently takes Paul’s wrist and removes his hand from his groin. He moves to get up from the bed, if only to ease down his jeans, stepping out of them, leaving himself only in his boxers. Then he climbs back up onto the bed, removing his shirt as well, exposing his muscular torso and dark body hair. Paul is biting his lip with a subdued eagerness evident on his face. He reaches out to roam his slender hands up over Till’s stomach and chest, stroking at his hot skin, feeling the light touch of his chest hair.

“You are so handsome,” he whispers. His fingers extend to trace the sharp line of his jaw. Till clutches his hand and turns his head to kiss him firmly on the fingers, eyes closing. Paul smiles. He then slips his hand from Till’s, if only to reach down and meekly curl his fingers into the waistband of his boxers. He watches himself slowly draw them down, letting his rock hard length flip up against his belly. Till lets out a deep breath.

“C’mere, daddy,” Paul says quietly, looking up at Till coyly. Till nods. He first angles his legs so he can slip his boxers off entirely, leaving himself bare. Paul is nearly in the same state, save for his hoodie, which is pushed up to his collarbone. Till kneels beside him, and says, “Sit up first. Let’s get you naked.”

Paul giggles. He obliges and sits up for Till to grab onto his hoodie and pull it off of him, leaving his hair a greater mess than it had been. Paul beams up at him, endearingly. He reaches out for Till. Smiling faintly, Till shifts closer. He lets Paul tug him into a tight embrace. They end up tangled in the mass of Paul’s stuffed animals and spaceship patterned duvet. Their legs are overlapping, bodies flush with Paul nuzzling into Till’s chest. The naked skin to skin contact is comforting, more than it is sexually stimulating. It’s intimate. Till likes holding him in this way.

“I can feel your big part against my leg,” Paul giggles, and then moves his leg to demonstrate; it has Till’s dick rubbing up against his thigh. Till lets out a huffing laugh and murmurs, “My ‘big part’?”

“Well, what would you call it?” Paul huffs, defensive in his terminology. Till chuckles and kisses him on the forehead.

“Let’s wait on that,” he murmurs, spoken to Paul, not Paulchen. Paul sits up then, hands propped against the bed, and looks down at him with a jutted bottom lip and wild red hair.

“What, so it’s a grown-up thing? You won’t tell me what it’s called?”

“If you want the straight answer,” Till begins lowly, looking up at him fondly while he gingerly strokes the back of his index finger along Paul’s taut arm, “It’s my penis. But, that isn’t quite as fun as calling it ‘my big part’, is it?”

A blush blooms on Paul’s face. He looks at Till with surprise in his eyes, and then he grins. He nods and giggles.

“You’re right. That’s not as fun.”

Till smiles at him, calmly. He then squeezes his bicep and says, “Come closer.”

Paul obliges. Moving to rest on his elbows, he leans in towards Till. Till cups the side of his head, thumb on his cheek, fingers cupped under his ear, and pulls him in. Paul’s eyes are lidded, a cheeky grin pulling across his cute lips. Then they kiss, with a loving, intimate crushing that has Paul humming happily into it. Their mouths overlap together, a deeper, more lustful sharing of their breaths, their saliva, their desire. Till tastes Paul’s lips with his tongue, breaches the seam to feel the bone of his teeth.

They become so distracted, Paul forgets what he was so set to do in the first place. He has one hand roaming up over Till’s front, across muscle and soft body hair, as their lips mash together. Till keeps him close, clutching his face in both hands, possessively cradling him in his palms. Only when Paul is breathless, gasps slipping in amongst the consuming overlapping of Till’s mouth, does he break away. He pulls back, panting, and looks at Till with red cheeks and hooded eyes.

Till kisses him on the forehead, breathing hard himself. Paul giggles and reaches up to trace the line of his jaw with a fingertip.

“Let me try now, daddy,” Paul whispers. Till nods. They break apart. Paul leans back into his elbow, watches with anticipation as the other man rises up onto his knees. His stiff cock is standing tall before Paul, flushed and beading at the tip with pre-cum. A wide-eyed look comes to his face. He stares at his cock with awe. He reaches up to run the tip of his index finger along the underside, tracing a vein. He grins and meets Till’s gaze.

“You’re so much bigger than me!”

Till furrows his brow. That isn’t true. Till is around the same length, only thicker in girth. He supposes such a statement is only for their playing. Paul’s eyes flick back down to watch himself slowly close his hand around the base.

“Will I be this big, too?” he asks quietly, peeking up at Till with hopeful eyes. Till wets his lips with a drift of his tongue.

“Someday, yes,” he murmurs. Paul looks pleased with this. He grins, eyes twinkling, and then refocuses on the task in hand. He remembers what Till said. He shifts to sit up, kneeling, seated back on his calves, and then leans in to let his spit drip down onto Till’s cock. He furrows his brow, focusing, as he begins to stroke at him. His grip isn’t as confident as it typically is. He repeatedly peeks up at Till’s face for validation in his attempts. Till’s face is naturally more neutral during sex, but he lets a more openly pleasured expression grace his features. He reaches out to begin running his fingers through his messy red locks. Paul hums and drops his gaze to watch himself touch him.

He rubs his fingers over the thick head, intrigued by the texture and warmth of it, the slickness of his pre-cum. Till lets out a deep breath at that. Paul is staring at himself touching Till, watching so intently, absolutely enthralled and amazed.

“Try using your tongue,” Till murmurs lowly, becoming impatient. Those big gray eyes look up at him with surprise. Then a sly little smile pulls at Paul’s lips. He nods and maintains eye contact as he leans in, letting his tongue slide out to press to the underside, against the concentration of nerves in the frenulum. He meekly licks at him there, a slow curling of his tongue that has Till flaring his nostrils and clenching his jaw. He tightens his grip in Paul’s hair and watches with heat building both in his face and in his belly. Paul continues looking straight up at him as he lathes his tongue across the pink head, licking up the droplet of pre-cum which has been building there.

“This is weird,” Paul giggles, and then curls his back and angles his head so he can drag the flat width of his tongue up from the base, all the way to the head. Till takes in a sharp breath. He barely registers Paul’s comment, but even then, he doesn’t respond. He just watches, eyes fiery and ravenous, as Paul licks all over the thick head, eyes fixated up on him again.

“Put it in your mouth, baby,” Till grunts, “Stop teasing me.”

“You want me to put it in my mouth?” Paul asks quietly, sitting back on his calves to study his stiff shaft with a perplexed expression. He brings his other hand up to gingerly cup his hand around Till’s balls. Till tenses up, unsure what he plans to do. Paul squeezes them gently, peeking up at Till with a coy grin curling at his lips.

“You’re big here, too,” Paul murmurs cheekily with an amused glint in his eyes. He rolls his balls around in his fingers, giggling obscenely to himself. Red-faced, Till huffs aloud and growls with impatience, eyes narrowing, “Paul, I swear to God.”

That has Paul cracking a genuine laugh. He nods and finally stops fondling him. He shifts closer on his knees and readjusts his grip on Till’s dick. He licks his lips and then lowers his head, back curling, to carefully, shyly close his pink lips around the tip of his cock. He’s a little awkward in doing so, but Till assumes he’s just playing it up, as per usual.

It feels good, regardless. The intensifying arousal that had built up and built up leads to a greater sensitivity. Till grunts when Paul slowly takes the head of his cock into his mouth, lips closed tightly around him. He just seems to hold it in his mouth. He doesn’t know what he’s doing. Till smiles faintly, amused.

“Try and suck,” he murmurs, stroking his fingers through Paul’s red hair. Paul makes a slight noise around him and shifts a little closer on his knees. With one hand gripping his cock, he sets the other on Till’s hip, fingers resting lightly around it. He obeys; he sucks in, his cheeks hollowing, and begins rubbing his tongue against him. Till grunts.

“That’s good. You’re learning,” he breathlessly says, losing focus and coherency. Paul seems to stop playing around. He nurses tightly at him while he shifts higher up on his knees to gain a better angle; he begins moving his head, sucking him off with each lowering of his head deeper than the last, until he’s taking Till far into his mouth. Till moans and grabs a fistful of his hair, watching with hungry eyes and grit teeth.

Paul’s fingers tighten around the base of his cock, keeping it in place as he carefully takes it into his throat, his brow furrowed with focus, nose pressing into Till’s belly. He coughs twice, but doesn’t lose control. Till groans deeply.

“Good boy,” he growls, eyes downcast to admire the sight of Paul deepthroating him, his hand curling around the back of his head. Only when Paul chokes and coughs, back curling, does he slowly pull off, panting heavily, strings of saliva dripping both from Till’s cock and his lips. He looks up at Till with teary eyes and a flushed face. Till brings his other hand up to wipe off Paul’s pink, swollen lips with his thumb, before slowly pushing it into his mouth. Paul sticks out his tongue, letting his thumb rest in the bowl of it, his gray eyes fixed up on Till’s. He closes his lips around it, sucks. Till smiles faintly—it reminds him of Paul always sucking on his own thumb. A filthy, albeit cute sight.

Removing his thumb from his mouth, Till gently cups Paul’s jaw and draws him back in. Paul all too happily shifts closer, ducks his head to take his cock back into his mouth. He begins nursing tightly, bringing his hand down to gingerly cup his balls and squeeze. Till groans. He’s not far off. He’s so sensitive, Paul just sucking at the head sends bolts of lightning through his skin, sparks tingling from the bottom of his spine up to the inside of his eyelids. He squeezes his eyes shut, jaw clenched.

Gripping the back of Paul’s head, he looks down to watch with an open mouth. Paul slowly sucks half of his thick cock into his mouth, his eyes closed and lips wrapped perfectly around him. It’s a sexy view that only spurs Till on. He grabs a fistful of Paul’s hair and brings his hand in to grip the base of his cock in a ring of his big fingers. He begins to arch his hips, pushing it deeper into his mouth, breaching his throat. Paul grunts and chokes, but regains his composure.

The wet sounds of Till carefully fucking his throat, mindful of his force, fills the room. Paul coughs a few times, but doesn’t gag. Till begins to shake. The sight contributes to the sensation. He doesn’t want to come just from his own doing, though. He stops thrusting, releases his fistful of his hair, and breathlessly snarls, “Suck me off, baby. I’m close.”

Paul hums happily around him and begins stroking at the length of his cock which isn’t in his mouth as he nurses firmly at the head, his watery gray eyes flicking up to lock onto Till’s. His cheeks are sucked in, cute lips wrapped around him, with saliva built on his chin and the corners of his mouth. Staring, Till curls his big fingers in Paul’s red locks. Squeezing his balls in his hand, Paul lowers his head, swallowing his cock into his throat again, his brow knit and cheeks a ruddy red. He coughs as he begins moving his head, repeatedly sucking him deeply into his mouth, until Till is growling and huffing like an animal.

Then Paul pulls off, looks up towards him, and licks at the sensitive slit of the head, hand stroking at him feverishly. Till’s entire body locks up, stomach tightening, hand clenching a painful fistful of Paul’s hair, his jaw flexing. Paul makes a shocked noise when Till’s cum forcefully jets into his mouth, hitting the back of his throat, across his tongue, catching on his lip. A stray shot lands across his cheek. Groaning, Till is swept away by the immeasurable euphoria, the fireworks going off behind closed eyelids, the utter static of his mind. As he comes back down from it, Till pants heavily, shuddering violently, releasing his fistful of Paul’s hair.

He looks down to see Paul running his tongue across his lips with a furrowed brow. Surprising Till, he leans in to run the width of his tongue up over the head, licking up the remnants of cum. Till grunts. Paul looks up at him with a smile.

“That tastes weird,” he says, followed by a giggle. Till stares down at him, silently admiring the visual of his cum wetting his cheek and lips. Paul’s pink tongue darts out to run down over his bottom lip and underneath it, catching a smear. Reaching up, Till slowly wipes up the stripe of his semen that clings to Paul’s cheek. Paul blinks, looking up at him with wide eyes as Till pushes his thumb into his mouth. Paul immediately sucks it off and then all too happily smiles up at him, around his thumb. Removing his thumb from his hot mouth, Till instead cups his jaw in his hand, an affectionate gesture. Paul purrs like a cat.

“Was it good for you, too, daddy?” Paul asks enthusiastically, leaning in to kiss him on the heaving belly. Till smiles faintly.

“It’s always good with you,” he murmurs. Paul beams up at him at that, blatantly pleased. Till moves to lay down again, taking Paul by the bicep and urging him to join. Paul plants his hand against the bed and blurts, “Wait! My mouth tastes funny. I need to brush my teeth!”

Till pauses. Right.

He nods.

“Okay. Go.”

Paul grins, arches up to smooch him loudly on the forehead, and then whips away to hurry off the bed and into the hallway. Till watches his cute little ass all the way until he’s out the door.


End file.
